


where we go from here

by miss_eee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2019-11-16 08:22:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18090818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_eee/pseuds/miss_eee
Summary: Widowed as the result of an accident, Hermione Weasley finds herself trying to start over again. A story of friendship, family, love, and surprises.





	1. Chapter 1

This really was his least favourite part of his job. It was bad enough when it was someone he didn't know, but this. No amount of Auror training could have prepared him for this.

 

Protocol stated he should use the front door, knocking before asking permission to enter the residence, but nothing about this was according to protocol.

 

He stepped towards the fireplace in his office,  wiping tears from his face and steadying his hands as he reached for the black powder that sat on the mantle.

 

_ He could do this. This was his job.  _

 

Stepping into the green flames and calling out his destination, he had only a moment to collect himself before he collided with the hardwood floor.

 

He'd been here countless times before - passed out drunk on that leather couch, discovered the world of football on the telly, had many meals at that dining room table. Never had he imagined he'd be here like this.

 

He stretched, dusting the dirt off his dark grey robes, and it was then that he noticed. His robes were torn, covered in mud and a dark maroon substance,  and he suddenly wished he was anywhere but here.

 

“Malfoy! Ron didn't tell me you were coming for dinner. Roast and vegetables - I hope that's ok. You might want to wash your hands, you're covered in dirt.”

 

She was rambling and hadn't noticed the state of his robes as he stood stock still in the middle of her living room. She crossed the room, stepping up on her tiptoes to lightly place a kiss to his cheek, their usual greeting. 

 

He remained frozen, watching only as she sauntered away towards the kitchen.  _ Merlin, she was gorgeous.  _

 

_ Maybe once, she could have been his. He still praised Potter and the Weasel for not returning to Hogwarts for their 8th year. In their place, he sat next to her in Charms, he stayed up until well after the library closed reworking a Potions essay with her. Their friendship was a post-war friendship, coming together in the ways of forgiveness and moving forward. She’d testified at his trial and he’d apologized for his behaviour over the years - the names he had called her, the torture she’d endured at the hands of his aunt. Over bottles of firewhiskey, they’d confessed their nightmares to one another, secrets she’d later tell him not even Potter and Weasley knew of.  _

 

_ She’d lied, said the nightmares had passed, because she’d known they wouldn’t have let her return so easily if they’d known. If they’d known the way she couldn’t sleep through the night when it stormed. If they’d known the way she’d slink down the hall of the 8th year dorm. If they’d known the way she’d silently unlock his door. If they’d known the way he’d held her as she cried herself back to sleep, running his fingers through her long, curly brunette locks, they’d never have let her come back.  _

 

_ He’d tell her on the nights that found him in her bed about how inadequate he’d felt growing up, how fearful he was of his father, how the thought of crucio still made his body ache. How broken he’d felt, lying on the ballroom floor of his childhood home, bruised and bloodied as his father stood to the side, too afraid and too disappointed to do anything. Funny how even now, three years later with his father tucked away in Azkaban for the remainder of his life, he still feared being a disappointment to the man.  _

 

_ She opened up to him about the Weasel, telling him about how she’d given him her virginity the night before she’d left to come back to school, how it’d been weeks since she’d gotten an owl from him but the post came every week from Potter. She confessed to him that she’d pined after the redhead for years until he finally noticed her, finally saw her as more than just the brainy friend who finished his homework. Maybe there was hope for him, he’d thought, hope for them. If the Weasel was so quick to ignore her, he’d show her how much he valued her.  _

 

_ And he did. Small things like serving her tea with honey and a dash of sugar, an empty leather-bound diary for her birthday (Horcrux free, they’d joked), a first edition of Moste Potente Potions for Christmas. Months went by, and soon there was no more talk of the Weasel.  _

 

_ He’d kissed her once. Just once. On their last night - down by the lake, the night lit only by the moon. He’d kissed her, telling her again how sorry he was and how thankful he was for her friendship. Butterflies and fireworks could best describe how he felt in that moment, her lips soft as they moved against his. He’d fallen asleep that night with a blissful smile on his face, ideas of how he’d court her properly before asking her to marry him. Thoughts of how he’d buy her any house she wanted so she never had to live at the Manor, thoughts of someday little blonde haired children with unruly curls.   _

 

_ They shared a compartment on the train ride back to London, and she’d sank softly into his side as the hours had rolled by. He spun her curls through his fingers, thinking back over the final school year, and all the ways he’d fallen in love with her. Too soon, he was pulling her trunk down from the overhead compartment, playfully pushing their trolleys into one another as they raced down Platform 9 ¾. She’d stopped suddenly, and he’d rammed his trolley into the back of her knees, but she hadn’t budged. Frozen she stood there, her eyes fixed ahead at the red-headed figure leaning against the brick wall. Roses and a gold ring and all was forgiven.  _

 

“Malfoy?”

 

Her voice calling out to him pulled him away from his daydream, back to the horror that was his reality. 

 

“Granger?”

 

He could hear her in the kitchen, pulling dishes down and setting the table. He stepped towards her, towards the sound, finally feeling his body move again and remembering why he was here. 

 

“I asked you if you knew when Ron would be home.”

 

“Granger.”

 

He stared at her, realizing for the first time that she was wearing only her robe, her hair twisted up into a knot at the top of her head, loose curls falling down to frame her face.

 

“Why didn’t he just come with you?”

 

“Hermione.”

 

She spun towards him, her eyes connecting with his, and he knew she was taking the sight of him in. Torn, muddy robes, and those dark maroon stains. In the three years since they’d left Hogwarts, all the years that they’d known each other, he’d always taken great care of his personal appearance. But now, he stood before her tracking mud into her kitchen with dirt in his hair and blood on his face. 

 

“Hermione. You need to change, we need to go.”

 

The bottle of elf-made wine she held in her hand shattered on the floor, the dark red splattering the white tiled kitchen. His body moved towards her, arms reaching out as she collapsed to the floor, her knees sliding against the red wine. 

 

“No. No. No. Ron.” Her body shook against his as he slid on the floor next to her, pulling her up into his lap. 

 

“Hermione. I am so, so sorry. But right now, you need to get changed. We have to go.”

 

“Harry. I need Harry…” Her voice trailed off as tears overtook her. He had managed to pull her up off of the floor and had started down the hallway to her bedroom to fetch a change of clothes. In his concern over her, he’d forgotten about the other one. He reached for the first pair of pants he found, some dark navy cotton pyjamas. They’d have to do, he didn’t have any more time to dawdle. 

 

She’d settled onto the edge of the bed, her head falling forward into her hands, still muttering for Ron and Harry. 

 

“Granger. You’ve got to help me here. Pants. You need to put on pants.” 

 

She stuck out a leg towards him. It wasn't much but he’d have to work with it. He pulled one foot into a leg hole and then the other, before he stood her up, leaning her against his body, and pulled the pyjamas up to her waist. 

 

“Granger. A shirt.” He’d wasted enough time, and he urgently began pulling open dresser drawers again. Finally, he found something that wasn’t another pair of pants and tossed her the solid black t-shirt. When he turned back around towards the bed, she’d managed to remember to move and had undone the tie around her robe and was currently sitting there wearing only a pair of pyjama bottoms and a bra. A black, lacy bra with her nipples completely exposed and that was one image he was never going to get out of his head. 

 

_ Focus. The shirt. _

 

He grabbed her hand and tugged her down the hallway, back towards the living room and the floo. He assumed she must have been able to pull the shirt over her head herself because when he turned again she was fully clothed. 

 

Her golden brown eyes darted up to meet his, tears still falling down her face. 

 

“Draco. Ron - is he?” She couldn’t say the words any more than he could say them to her, but he knew that she knew. His arms reached out for her, pulling her into his chest and enveloping her small body with his. 

 

“He is, Granger. I am so sorry.” 

 

“And Harry? Is Harry…” He could feel her heart racing against his chest, the soft sobs that escaped her mouth and landed on his shoulder. 

 

“Hermione, we need to go.” He reached for the black powder that sat in the little golden bowl on the mantle, tossing it into the flames as he pulled her in after him. Together, like a prayer, they whispered the words.

 

_ St. Mungos.  _

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had never been cold. Always, he was the light and warmth in her life. Thick, strong arms wrapped around her in front of their fireplace. A warm, oversized sweatshirt that smelled of his cedar soap. The sun beating down on her face as they shared a picnic in the meadow by the Burrow. Warmth.

Her vision was tunnelled, and truthfully she wasn't sure how she was even standing upright, let alone placing one foot in front of the other. For the first time in her life, her brain had stopped working and only her body was moving forward. 

 

Forward. Down the hall. Towards the lady with red hair who was screeching horrifically. 

 

Forward. Towards the door on the right. The door she presumed led to the correct room, based on the amount of red-haired individuals standing outside of it. Through her haze, she couldn’t even make out the faces of who she knew to be her family, only noticing their brilliant red hair. If her mind was working, she was sure she’d count the heads of hair and come to the conclusion that they were all here. All of the brothers that remained and the one lone sister. 

 

Forward. Closer to the door on the right. The blonde that had accompanied her placed his hand on her back, guiding her towards her destination. 

 

_ Forward _ . 

 

The crowd of red parted for her, soft murmurs as she stepped towards the door. Her hands shook, her body turning to glance once more at the blonde, grasping for reassurance that this was all a dream. 

 

She stood in the doorway, staring into the room and feeling completely alone for the first time in years. Like a shock wave, her mind seemed to register the moment, taking in the images before her. 

 

He lay there tucked under the white hospital sheets. His face was paler than usual, contrasting sharply with his red hair. She stepped slowly closer, cataloguing the freckles on his face while she still could, and she felt her self thankful that his injuries had been healed before she arrived. Instinctively, her hand reached for his, pulling away slightly at the coldness. 

 

He had never been cold. Always, he was the light and warmth in her life. Thick, strong arms wrapped around her in front of their fireplace. A warm, oversized sweatshirt that smelled of his cedar soap. The sun beating down on her face as they shared a picnic in the meadow by the Burrow. Warmth. 

 

Her head fell forward, leaning into the coldness of his arm as tears fell from her face. Ronald Weasley was not without his faults, but he was loyal and brave and always could make her laugh. His laugh was bold, breaking down her walls when she was tightly wound up, stuck in her own head. Her body shook, racked with another round of tears as the sound of his laugh would never cross her ears again. 

 

She’d spent more than half her life with him by her side. More than half of her life with him pestering her, teasing her, protecting her, loving her, and suddenly there was the looming fact that she would now face the rest of her life without him. 

 

She wasn’t sure how long she had sat there, cradling her head in the crook of his arm, crying to Merlin that this was all just a nightmare. At some point, she was sure a healer had come into the room, and possibly one of the older brothers, but her screeches had deterred them from pulling her away. 

 

It was a soft hand, delicate on her shoulder and silky raven locks brushing against her cheek that finally caused her to raise her head. Her beautiful friend, once called “pug-faced”, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy. 

 

She still held the same grace as the pure-blood princess she’d been raised to be, but she was so very different than the girl she’d been during school. This girl before her was fiercely loyal and protective, but kind and thoughtful as well. How their friendship had been forged during their 8th year at Hogwarts was a great mystery, but the Malfoy heir was partially to blame. He’d refused to allow the only two people at school who would talk to him, refuse to talk to one another and forced the girls to sit together at meals. And soon it was tea in Hogsmeade and Christmas shopping in Diagon Alley, late night sleepovers that found her finally learning how to tame her curls. They'd come to realize that neither girl had ever had a true girl friend, and found themselves bonding over tales of the trouble their boys had gotten into. It was also just after Christmas that she’d told the raven-haired girl she should write to Harry and apologize for attempting to turn him over to the Dark Lord, and that was how Pansy Parkinson came to receive more letters from Harry each week than she did. 

 

There had been a time, only a few years before, when she’d thought their small group of three would gain another red-head in the form of Ginny Weasley, but the war had changed a lot of things. Through a lot of tears and screaming, Ginny had confessed to Harry that she wasn’t sure if she’d ever be able to trust him not to leave her again, and things had been decidedly tense since them. 

 

“Hermione, it’s time. Harry’s awake, he’s asking about Ron…” Her voice was soft and calm, but it pulled her away from her thoughts, and back to the present nightmare that was her reality. 

 

True to her upbringing, Pansy Potter stood there wearing a sheer black blouse tucked into her black pencil skirt, completed with black tights and black high heels, despite the late hour and the events of the evening. Her glamour charms had kept her mascara in place, her dark red lipstick not smudged at all, despite the redness in her eyes. She still managed to look impeccable, which, compared to Hermione in her oversized t-shirt and pyjama pants, wasn’t difficult. She grasped for the girl's hand, letting herself be pulled up and away from the redhead who still lied unmoving in the bed. She leaned down, running her fingers through the fringe that fell over his forehead, placing a soft kiss on his cold lips before she turned away one final time, following the beautiful girl out of the room. 

 

It was quiet, the hallway lights had dimmed, and the redheaded family had dispersed. Other than the two girls, the only other soul in the hallway was the tall blonde leaning against the wall. His robes were still torn and muddied, but the cuts and blood had been healed from his face. He pushed himself off of the wall as they approached, keeping his voice low as he spoke out.

 

“He’s awake, he’s been asking about Ron. I get the feeling he already knows, but we’d thought it’d be best if you were there when we told him…” His voice trailed off as the three entered the room. 

 

_ When we told him.  _ When they told him that his best friend had been killed, that the  _ Golden Trio _ was now the  _ Golden Two _ . Nothing, in all of their years of friendship, had ever prepared her for this moment. 

 

She sank slowly into the chair by his bed, reaching out as his hand grasped for hers. No words yet but already tears were falling from his eyes. Draco had been right, he’d already known. She squeezed his hand tighter, feeling Pansy’s soft touch on her shoulder as Draco’s voice began to quietly fill the room. 

 

He spoke of how they’d finally managed to track Selwyn to a cave in the Yorkshire Dales. The last of the Death Eaters to survive the final battle of Hogwarts, he’d seemingly fallen off the map. Until an incident at a local pub had triggered his tracker. Years of not using magic to avoid detection and one small slip up was all it took. Once they’d arrived, it hadn’t been difficult to find him, the villagers were all too pleased to point them towards the cave that he’d been hiding in. Ron, desperately wanting the fame and glory that would come with bringing in the final Death Eater, had insisted on taking the lead into the cave. It had all happened so fast- a ricocheting  _ incarcerous _ and the walls had come crashing down. The resulting blow had thrown Draco and Harry out of the cave, helpless as they watched the rocks fall over their friend. Draco only had time to cast a  _ Patronus _ back to the ministry for reinforcements before Harry lost consciousness, a nasty head wound resulting from colliding with a rock. 

 

The small group fell quiet after that, only soft sobs breaking through the silence. She sat still, his hand still grasped in hers, as she tried to make sense of all that had happened, and all that would happen. There wasn’t a single part of her that wanted to leave his side, that wanted to face the world outside of this small room, but after several hours, a healer came to tell them visiting hours were over. 

 

They stood in the hallway for a moment, her and the two Slytherins that had worked their way into her life. There was nowhere she wanted to go- not back to the flat she had shared with Ron, not to Grimmauld Place and not to the Burrow. She thought briefly of her parent’s house, left untouched after they’d decided to stay in Australia after the war. In the end, the decision was made for her, when Malfoy grasped a hand of each of the girls and she suddenly found herself in her living room. 

 

Had it only been a few hours since she’d been here last? Everything seemed so different, quiet and unfamiliar. The dining room table was still set, the roast still under its warming charm. On the kitchen counter, a vase with roses he’d bought her the week before. Above the mantle, an arrangement of pictures; one from their wedding, one from Harry and Pansy’s wedding, one of the trio when they were still at Hogwarts. 

 

She wandered her way back to their bedroom, but his presence was stronger here. His robes from the day before were haphazardly thrown over the laundry basket instead of inside, his towel from his shower that morning crumpled on the bathroom floor. She supposed there were things that needed to be done, that needed to be taken care of, and she felt her mind racing as she paced around the room. Lists upon lists of things that needed to be arranged, owls that needed to be sent. 

 

She sank unto the bed, her body beginning to shake as tears once more poured over her face. She could feel her heart shattering, feel her entire world crashing down around her, and she was utterly terrified for the first time in years. Stuck in her own thoughts, she didn’t notice Pansy enter the room until she felt the bed sink down on one side. She leaned her head onto the other girl, as her arm wrapped around her small frame. 

 

She knew, at that moment, clinging to Pansy Potter as tears flowed freely from both girls, that everything in her world had changed, and the only thing she could do was continue to move forward. 

 

_ Forward.  _

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She didn't remember much from that first month. 
> 
> She knew there'd been a funeral. She wore black, and Malfoy had pushed Harry in a wheelchair.

She didn't remember much from that first month. 

 

She knew there'd been a funeral. She wore black, and Malfoy had pushed Harry in a wheelchair. He'd been released from St. Mungos two days before, but was on strict orders to rest. Head wounds weren’t easy to heal with magic, but he’d been rather persistent about being released, and well- he was Harry Potter. She imagined somewhere on the other side of the veil, Ron was laughing at the image of Malfoy trying to push Harry up the walkway to the Burrow, catching the wheels on rocks and almost throwing Harry from the chair on several occasions. 

 

Pansy had stood next to her, tightly gripping her hand and she was thankful to have her friend by her side. Ginny was home on grievance leave from the Harpies, but their friendship had never fully mended after the war. 

 

Molly Weasley had been inconsolable. Two of her sons were now buried, another spoon taken off of the clock, tucked away in the drawer. 

 

Dinner at the Burrow after the service had been quiet, unlike usual Sunday dinners. Much too quiet. Something had shifted in the once riotous household. Something that reminded them that death had once again claimed one of their own. 

 

The service had been on a Thursday. The following Monday, she'd returned to her job in the Department of Muggle Relations - she had a meeting in a month with the British Prime Minister that she needed to prepare for. After the war, the Wizengamot had voted to improve Muggle relations, and Hermione’s department had been born. She worked primarily with heads of state in other wizarding countries, notifying them of changes in legislation or upcoming events. Her office was directly next to Minister Shacklebolt, they worked closely to coordinate international relations. She travelled a lot for work, but so had Ron, so their varying schedules hadn’t ever been much of a problem. Maybe years down the road, when little ones came along, would she pass her ambassador position on to someone else, but for now, she took great joy in the work that she did. 

 

She looked past the glances as she walked through the halls of the Ministry - whispers from curious onlookers wondering why she was here, how she was coping, wasn’t it so tragic what had happened to Ron. She smiled politely at her secretary, a muggle-born named Marie that had graduated Hogwarts just the year before. Her office was down the same hallway as Kingsley’s, but since it was still so early his door was closed and his lights were off. As she pushed open the door to her office, she felt a feeling of loneliness wash over her. Their wedding picture hung on her wall, next to her Order of Merlin. A bouquet of roses sat on her desk that he’d sent to her the week before, his spare cloak he kept for their impromptu lunch dates hung behind her door. Even here, in this space that should have been solely her own, he was everywhere. 

 

Relaxed in the lounge chair next to the window that overlooked the Ministry lobby. Leaning against the doorway as he waited for her to finish for the night. Sitting in the chair across from her desk, twirling his fingers through her quills as she regaled him with some story from her visit with the Indian Prime Minister over tea. 

 

He was everywhere. Except that he wasn’t. And these places that he was now, were places he would never be again.

 

She sat in the dark, in that chair overlooking the Ministry, and felt her body begin to shake with tears when she heard a soft knock at the door. Only once, and then the door to her office opened, light streaming in from the hallway beyond.

 

He stood there leaning against the doorframe, his blonde hair and pale skin almost illuminated by the light from the hallway, peering in at her just briefly, before he stepped softly into the room, shutting the door behind him. 

 

“Granger. You shouldn’t be here today.”

 

“I didn’t know what else to do. I have so much to get ready for before next month. I can’t stay at home. He’s everywhere.” She knew her voice was rambling, but she couldn’t stop herself. Everything was colliding within her all at once. He reached for her, cradling her in his arms and rocking her slightly. 

 

“Granger. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

 

“I don’t want to go home. I can’t be alone there.”

 

“Then I’ll take you to Potter’s. You look like you haven’t slept all week.”

 

He grabbed for her cloak, pulling it tight around her as he guided her back out the door, past Marie and back through the Ministry Lobby towards the floo. 

  
  
  
  


Grimmauld Place was quiet when they landed in the foyer. There was no Walburga Black portrait on the wall to scream profanities at her, and the house was silent. She assumed Pansy was at work, she ran a small boutique in Diagon Alley. She knew Harry was still on medical leave, but it was early still and might be a few more hours before he made it downstairs from his bedroom. 

 

Malfoy reached for an afghan that was folded on the edge of the sofa, wrapping it around her as she sank into the cushions. Everything that had once felt like it was crashing down around her, now felt like it was encompassing her with a calmness. The silence of the house, the silence in her head, the silence in her heart.  

  
  
  


The rest of the week passed the same as Monday had. Each day, she’d gotten up, dressed and showered and made her way to the Ministry. She’d sat at her desk for approximately an hour, pushing papers to the side and trying to prepare things for her meeting with the Prime Minister next month, before Malfoy would come and take her to Grimmauld Place. 

 

She would sit in silence for a while, wrapped up in the blanket until Harry woke up. She’d then get up, make them both a mug of coffee before they’d settle onto the sofa together. 

 

Some days it felt like they sat there for hours. Some days they would play wizard chess. Some days she would read a book. Some days they would talk about Ron. Some days they would just nap. 

 

Their weeks continued the same much as they had before Ron died - drinks on Friday after work at this pub in Muggle London that they’d found, dinner on Saturday at Grimmauld Place. 

 

It didn’t matter how many times over the last three years they had found themselves in Muggle London - Ron had been fascinated by the crowded streets - but Malfoy had a very different reaction. It had taken him a long time to get over people brushing past him on the sidewalk, the “outlandish” clothing Muggles insisted on wearing and the fast-paced automobiles that raced down the roadways. 

 

It was a small spot, tucked away next to a clothing retailer and a bookshop, which was probably how she and Pansy had found it in the first place. The beer was cheap and the fish and chips were good, but the best part was that no one knew who they were. There were no Prophet cameras posted outside, waiting to catch the group of friends that had fascinated the nation by the ability to overcome the war. The Prophet already posted weekly articles and updates, they didn’t need any more stories for their gossip columns. 

 

The days rolled by spent on Harry’s sofa, the weeks rolled by in a steady routine, and before she knew it, the first month had passed. 

  
  
  
  


The second month came, and her mornings with Harry were forced to become mornings at the Ministry. Her appointment with the Prime Minister was quickly approaching, and there were still reports and data that needed to be compiled. There had been a recent incident where a Common Welsh Green had flown into a beach where Muggles were sunbathing. Although they’d been _obliviated_ and the Department of Magical Creatures had handled much of the fallout, her job entailed that she prepare and update the British Prime Minister on any incidents that involved Muggles and anything of magical origin.  It’d been quite the task since this incident had involved not only half a dozen Muggles, but also a magical creature, and she still wasn’t confident with her approach. 

 

Each day, she worked hard through lunch, until about 3 in the afternoon when Malfoy would come and collect her, taking her to Grimmauld Place. He had been insistent that she not work too much, her exhaustion was starting to show.

 

Her afternoons were spent on the sofa with Harry, who had taken an extended leave. He carried a lot of guilt, that he hadn’t been able to protect Ron, or that he hadn’t gone before him, and it made him a danger to the other Aurors.  

 

She was still struggling to eat very much - through the stress and exhaustion and grief everything she ate seemed to come right back up. Malfoy brought her a pepper-up potion that seemed to help, but only sometimes. She seemed to be surviving on a sole diet of scones and chamomile tea, but she hadn’t had much of an appetite. 

 

Fridays were still spent at the pub in Muggle London, but on the third Friday, she ordered only chips, since the smell of the fish was making her stomach roll. She ordered a water and left early, feeling the exhaustion take over her since this had been her first full week back the Ministry. 

 

On Monday morning, when she pulled herself out of bed full of nerves about her meeting with the Prime Minister later that morning, she had only gotten around four hours of sleep. She’d tossed and turned all night, unable to get comfortable and unable to relax, nervous about today. 

 

She’d laid out her outfit almost a week ago with Pansy, settling on a sensible black pencil skirt and lavender blouse, she paired it with black stockings and short black heels and was preparing to twist her hair into a chignon when she suddenly found herself hanging her head over the toilet in her bathroom. 

 

_ It’s just nerves. _ She told herself.  _ It’s just nerves. _

 

Nerves or not, the lavender blouse had small specks of vomit on it, so she quickly cast a  _ scourgify _ , grabbed her bag and her cloak, and rushed out the door. 

 

Malfoy met her in her office with a scone and a mug of tea, a quick kiss to her cheek with a wish of good luck before he headed down to his office on the 2nd level. She grabbed the documents that she needed, rocking on her heels as she took stock once more of her office. 

 

She could feel him. Relaxing in the lounge chair next to the window that overlooked the Ministry lobby. Leaning against the doorway as he waited for her to finish for the night. Sitting in the chair across from her desk, twirling his fingers through her quills as she regaled him with some story from her visit with the Indian Prime Minister over tea. 

 

In this moment that she needed him, he was here with her, everywhere that she looked. She took a breath, gathered her thoughts, and then stepped towards the fireplace in her office, that was connected by floo directly to the office of the British Prime Minister. 

  
  
  


She felt in a haze still, her brain foggy and moving her body forward mechanically. Her hands were shaking and she wasn’t sure how she hadn’t managed to splinch herself, but she landed safely in the foyer of Grimmauld Place. Pansy had called a mandatory celebratory dinner to mark her fashion line landing on the cover of Witch Weekly. 

 

Pansy, like all the others, had carried a lot of guilt with her about the war, specifically for her part in attempting to turn Harry over to the Dark Lord. Despite being married to Harry for the last year, she’d never quite received the social acceptance that she’d once had. Her father was in Azkaban, her mother had taken her own life shortly before the start of her 7th year. When she came back to Hogwarts after the war, excluding Malfoy, she’d been alone. Her family disgraced, the friendships she’d thought she’d had broken because of the choices of her parents and she was ostracized for the way she had stood by them. She’d been raised to believe in blood purity, but the war, watching her classmates bleed out on the floors of Hogwarts, had changed everything for her.

 

After graduation from Hogwarts, Pansy found herself facing a world that didn’t have a place for her. Here, she was not a pureblood princess, she was the daughter of a former Death Eater. Her vault in Gringotts had been liquidated to pay for reconstruction efforts, and she’d been left with nothing- quite literally. 

 

The two girls had moved in together briefly, both helping the other find their way in this new post-war world. Pansy, who had always had a love of fashion, discovered she was actually exceptionally skilled at tailoring charms and had started with her own clothes before moving onto Hermione’s, adding tucks and embellishments. The day Hermione came home to discover the curtains had been turned into more skirts than either of the girls needed, she had gone right out to buy Pansy books on owning your own business. 

 

They’d called it a joint-venture, Petal & Otter, but truthfully, Pansy was the brains and the drive behind the entire thing, Hermione was just the financial backing. After years of fighting to be noticed, the cover for Witch Weekly was a huge step forward, and the owls had been coming in in droves all week.  

 

She’d barely had a chance to adjust herself, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt from her short travels, before Pansy had burst into the room, thrusting a glass of champagne into her hand. 

 

“‘Mione, I’m so glad you’re here! How did the meeting with the Prime Minister go? You’re looking a little pale, are you still feeling ill from Friday?” Her voice was bouncy as she flitted around the kitchen. Not that Pansy Potter cooked - she had Kreacher for that - but she had found in her post-war efforts to find herself, that she did like to bake, and tonight, the kitchen smelled of apple crumble. 

 

“It’s nothing. I’ve just been so nervous about today, I haven’t been sleeping well. And I haven’t had much of an appetite, everything I eat tends to come back up because of my nerves.” That word again.  _ It’s just nerves. _

 

“It doesn’t seem like just nerves, Hermione. Draco told me you weren’t feeling well last week either. Are you sure you’re not… no.”

 

“Am I sure I’m not what, Pans?”

 

“I mean, it doesn’t really seem possible, does it? But I guess it could be. You’d be what, two months, three months along?”

 

“Pansy- you don’t think I’m pregnant, do you?”  _ It’s just nerves. _

 

“Well, I guess there’s only one way to find out.” She felt a whoosh as she waved her wand over her stomach and felt a slight moment of panic wash over her as bright gold light shimmered from the end of the wand. “Congratulations, ‘Mione.” 

 

She could barely register the words her friend said, still staring where that beam of gold light had been.  _ It’s just nerves. _

 

It wasn’t just nerves. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’d grieved for friends and classmates after the war, but it hadn’t felt like this. This felt like a hole had been ripped through her chest, squeezing around her heart. This felt like all of the progress she’d made in the last month- slowly getting back to work and slowly learning to live again - was crumbling underneath her.

That night after dinner at the Potter’s, she’d stood in her bathroom in front of the mirror- shirtless and casting the pregnancy detection charm over and over again. Maybe she was hoping for a different result or maybe she was grasping at this last small part of Ron. The truth was, for the first time since the war had ended three years earlier, she was absolutely terrified.

 

She searched through his side of the wardrobe, pulling out an old flannel button up, wrapping the soft fabric around her. On the bed was the patchwork quilt that Molly had made before he left for Hogwarts, pulled from a trunk in the attic the week after his funeral. His scent surrounded her, pulling her in as the sobs overtook her again.

 

She’d grieved for friends and classmates after the war, but it hadn’t felt like this. This felt like a hole had been ripped through her chest, squeezing around her heart. This felt like all of the progress she’d made in the last month- slowly getting back to work and slowly learning to live again - was crumbling underneath her.

 

* * *

  


For the first time in nearly five years, she missed Sunday dinner at the Weasley’s. She wasn’t ready to tell Molly and see her face light up, wasn’t ready to be embraced by Fleur as she rambled on about how the children would be close in age, wasn’t ready to hear about how this was “such an exciting thing!”

 

Instead of surrounded by joyous family, she spent her Sunday cleaning the kitchen the Muggle way, emptying out the fridge and the pantry. Sunday evening, a large eagle owl landed on the windowsill while she wiped out the kitchen sink. Opening the window, the bird dropped its package on the table, snatching a treat from the dish on the counter and softly nuzzling her hand before swooping back out the window. It had taken years before _Loyalty_ had opened up to her - the regal bird was not fond of excessive displays of affection, so even the small hand nuzzle was a big deal.

 

She spun around, picking up the package and slowly unwrapping the brown paper, a familiar dark green _M_ stamped on the seal. The note that fell out of the package was simple, but his elegant loopy handwriting made her smile.

 

_Congratulations on the little bookworm._

_-D_

 

Books. Of course, he had sent her books. After the first Christmas that he’d gifted her that copy of _Moste Potente Potions,_ he’d gotten her a book for all of life's major events, including her first trip to the MACUSA. Her fingers grazed over the covers, taking in the words and all that these books entailed. _What To Expect When You're Expecting_ and _A Witches Guide To Magical Pregnancies._ Of course, he got her books

The house was quiet and clean, nothing left to do on a Sunday night before the work week began. She knew what tomorrow would bring, an appointment at St. Mungos and the reality that she was facing this alone. But she curled into Ron’s recliner that he had insisted on purchasing, wrapping an old afghan blanket around her legs. She read by the lamplight, choosing to start with _A Witches Guide_ , and that was where he found her the next morning when he stepped through the floo with a scone and peppermint tea.

 

* * *

  


“Granger.” His voice was soft and far away, almost like a dream, but she could hear him move across the floor. His loud work boots stepped closer and closer to the chair that she’d fallen asleep in, and that was when she realized it. She’d fallen asleep in the chair, not ever making it to her bed, _A Witches Guide_ still open on her lap.

 

“Morning, Granger. I see you got your books.”

 

She stretched, feeling the life come back to her legs, rolling the kink out of her neck as she rubbed her hands over her eyes.

 

“Malfoy, good morning.” Her body rocked forward with the chair, causing her stomach to roll around. As groggy and exhausted as she was feeling from having slept in the chair, her feet hit the ground and she darted past him and down the hallway, not even able to shut the bathroom door before her head met the toilet for her early morning ritual.

 

His work boots stomped down the hallway after her, and she groaned, never wanting Draco Malfoy to witness her vomiting into a toilet. As another bout hit her, his voice was soothing in her ear, his hand softly on her back as he rubbed circles, pulling her wild hair out of the way. She slumped to the floor, her body feeling weak and achy, and she watched as he rummaged through her cabinets until he found a soft flannel cloth and ran it under the warm water before coming to cradle her in his arms as he wiped her forehead.

 

She felt her eyes drift shut, the warmth of his arms and the warm cloth making her tired, but his body shifted behind her and her stomach rolled once again. She moved slower this time, unable to release herself from his arms fast enough, and she groaned as she heard a small bit splatter across the tile floor.

 

He wiped her forehead again before picking her up in his arms and carrying her across the hallway to her bed, tucking the patchwork quilt tight around her legs.

 

“Try to get some sleep, I’ll owl the Ministry for you. The appointment at St. Mungos isn’t for a few more hours. Do you want me to stay, or send for Pansy?”

 

“No, stay.” She felt him gently place a kiss to the top of her head as he wiped her wet curls out of her eyes before stepping out of the room to send an owl into the Ministry, or so she assumed.

 

Hours later, the sun was startling through the curtains as she blinked her eyes, rubbing at her face and stretching as she fought to wake up again. She rolled to the side, noting that Malfoy was still there, asleep in the chair that sat by her large bay window that overlooked London, her copy of _What To Expect When You’re Expecting_ opened across his lap.

 

* * *

  
  


“Congratulations, Mrs Weasley.”

 

Monday afternoon found her laying on a medical table at St Mungos, Pansy Potter clutching tightly to her hand as the healer waved and twirled her wand above her stomach.

 

“You appear to be close to the 12-week mark. The morning sickness you mentioned earlier should pass soon, but some women do feel bouts of sickness throughout their pregnancy. Make sure you’re eating healthy, even small meals if you can, and get plenty of fluids. I’ve got a list of potions here for you, to aid any discomforts you may be having. No pain potions and no Portkey travel, but I don’t foresee you having any problems.” Healer Alverson’s voice was calm and reassuring as she spoke, going over her list of instructions like she had for hundreds of mother’s before her.

 

“And the baby is developing fine? No, abnormalities?” Her face flushed when she asked the question, feeling unfit as she remembered the copious amounts of beer she had consumed on their usual Friday night pub visits over the last 12 weeks.

 

“I assure you, Mrs Weasley, the baby is developing just fine. Would you like to see?” She had heard of Muggle ultrasounds, that allowed expectant mothers to see the baby on a small screen, but she wasn’t aware that wizards had anything similar. She’d have to reread _A Witches Guide_ since she’d clearly not been paying attention the night before.

 

Healer Alverson muttered a spell, waving her wand counterclockwise over her lower abdomen, and a bright stream of white light glowed from the tip of her wand, stretching out until it hovered over her body, and then spreading like an old scroll unrolling. The white screen flickered with images of black and grey, and she watched in awe as Healer Alverson rearranged the screen so her and Pansy could better see. A small rounded head sat atop a tiny body, two small arms and two small legs.

 

“See, Mrs Weasley, everything is perfectly fine. We’ll be monitoring your progress every week, but make sure you’re taking the potions I listed daily. This little bundle will be here before you know it!”

 

* * *

  


Pansy had insisted that she wasn’t going into work that afternoon and instead dragged her through Muggle London to this small boutique that specialized in baby clothes. If they hadn’t tucked into an alleyway and shrunk the bags down to fit inside the purse Pansy carried, their arms would have been bogged down and aching from carrying all of the bags back through London to the Leaky Cauldron. Pansy Potter did not do things halfway when it came to fashion, as evidenced by the vast number of outfits currently spread all over Hermione’s bed. Pinks and blues and greens and yellows, white ruffles and grey polka dots. It was all too much and overwhelming all at once.

 

It wasn’t late, but it had been a long day, and her body was fighting the poor sleep she’d gotten the night before in the recliner. She ran a bath with lavender oils, sinking into the bubbles and breathing in the relaxing smell. The vomit that had so gracefully splattered on the floor that morning that been wiped away before she woke from her nap, presumably by Malfoy, and that thought made her flush. He’d been so thoughtful- sending her those books- and then this morning, carefully taking care of her, leaving water on her bedside table for when she woke up.

 

She wrapped her white robe tightly around her, braiding her wet curls back, and crawled into her bed with her copy of _A Witches Guide_ , aiming to actually remember what she’d read this time around. As her eyes drifted closed, she felt a feeling come over her.

 

_Calm. Peace. Resolve_.

 

She was not alone in this, and she would never be alone in this.

 

_Calm. Peace. Resolve._

 

* * *

  


There was nothing calm or peaceful in the way she woke up the following morning. A loud clatter that sounded like pans falling from the cupboard, what could only be described as loud whispering. _Someone was in her house._

 

She reached for her wand on her bedside table, tying her robe tightly around her and slipping into her house shoes. Her wand was shaking as she tip-toed down the hallway, towards the kitchen, towards the intruder.

 

She pressed her ear closer to the door, hearing those strange mutterings once more, her stomach sinking as she knew exactly who and what was behind her kitchen door. As she swung the door open, the old elf grumbled again, turning his attention back to the cupboard and all of her pans that laid strewn about the kitchen floor.

 

“Kreacher! What on earth are you doing here? And why is my kitchen in disarray?”

 

The old elf looked at her with that same face of contempt that he always had, crossing his arms sternly across his chest and glaring his eyes up at her.

 

“Master and Mister Draco said you needed looking after. Kreacher has been sent here to help the Widow Weasley.”

 

“The Widow Weasley?” She scoffed at the elf, who seemed to believe the conversation was over as he had gone back to the mess of pans on the kitchen floor. “Kreacher, I insist that I do not need your help.”

 

And maybe, on another day, she wouldn’t have needed the elfs help, but at that exact moment, the bout of morning nausea hit her, and she found herself racing back down the hallway to the bathroom. She looked up as the door swung open, the old elf carrying with him a tray of water biscuits, peppermint tea, and the assortment of potions prescribed by Healer Alverson.

 

“Kreacher knows about pregnancies and what witches go through. Master and Mister have sent him to help the Widow Weasley.”

 

“Kreacher, please do not ever call me the Widow Weasley again.” She groaned as another wave of nausea hit her, the old elf placed the tray on the bathroom counter, bowing slightly as he stepped silently from the room. The only sign the elf had left, was the clatter of pans on the kitchen floor.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her routine remains the same as it has in the months since Ron has been gone. Every day, she sits in her office pushing papers across her desk and anxiously awaiting the next incident that will require her political expertise. Some days, she spends the morning in the chaise lounge next to the large windows that overlook the Ministry lobby, sipping yet another cup of peppermint tea and watching the bustling Ministry workers as they come and go. This was always a favourite spot of Ron’s and sinking into the large plush grey cushions feels like a small part of him is with her.

In all of the years since Hermione had found out she was a witch, she’d never once thought she’d have a house elf, or even have one living in her home. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, thank you very much, and she found indentured servitude to be something she did not stand behind. 

 

Sure, at five months pregnant, she struggled sometimes to scrub her shower or carry her laundry upstairs, but that was what magic was for. She did have to admit though, that while coming home to a clean house every night was nice, she could do without the constant  _ mothering _ of Kreacher. The short time she’d spent at Grimmauld Place during the war, the elderly elf had only addressed her with mutterings and contempt, so the drastic change in behaviour was surprisingly unexpected. 

 

Every morning, fresh breakfast waits for her on her bedside table with a piping hot cup of peppermint tea. Her lunch is packed and stored in the refrigerator for her, typically a healthy salad or a sandwich wrap, depending on what was left over from dinner the night before. Clean towels hang in her bathroom, charmed to be warm when she stepped from the shower. Hanging on a hook at the front of her wardrobe is the outfit she picked out the night before, pressed and ready for wearing. 

 

In all of her exhaustion, she has to admit, living with a house elf is not  _ that  _ bad. 

 

Her routine remains the same as it has in the months since Ron has been gone. Every day, she sits in her office pushing papers across her desk and anxiously awaiting the next incident that will require her political expertise. Some days, she spends the morning in the chaise lounge next to the large windows that overlook the Ministry lobby, sipping yet another cup of peppermint tea and watching the bustling Ministry workers as they come and go. This was always a favourite spot of Ron’s and sinking into the large plush grey cushions feels like a small part of him is with her. 

 

On a sunny Wednesday morning, she sets her empty cup of tea on the table next to the chair and leans her head back, catching the ray of sunshine that beams down through the large open windows of the Ministry Rotunda. Basking in the sunshine and warmth, her eyes drift shut. 

 

* * *

  
  


Somewhere in the distance, a bell chimes. Once. Twice. Three, than four, than five times. On the fifth chime, her body startles awake and she sits up, a blanket jostled from her legs that wasn’t there before. She stretches, first her legs than her arms, feeling her body crack and ache as it comes to life after her afternoon nap. Or all day nap, since it had still been before lunch when she’d fallen asleep basking in the bright sunshine. 

 

Horrified, her eyes dart swiftly to her door, verifying that it was closed, and momentarily hoping that no one had noticed that she’d slept at work all day. On the edge of her desk sits a folded piece of parchment, which makes her blush when she realizes who it was from. 

 

_ H- _

 

_ I came by for lunch, but you looked so peaceful I couldn’t wake you. You’re working too hard. Owl me back if you need to reschedule dinner.  _

 

_ -D _

 

She instantly groans as she reads his words over again before checking the small calendar on her desk. Wednesday the 17th has a star doodled next to it, the words  _ Dinner with Draco and Potters _ prominently bolded. She recounts the chimes that had rung earlier, realizing due to her all day nap, she only has an hour before her friends would be arriving at her flat for dinner. As she has many times in the last few months, she silently praises Draco and Harry for sending Kreacher to take care of her, knowing the elf kept a copy of her schedule and would be well on the way to having dinner prepared and the flat cleaned when she got home. 

 

And it was. As soon as she steps through the floo, the smell of shepherd's pie greets her, immediately causing her stomach to rumble, reminding her that she’d skipped lunch. Slipping her shoes off at the door, she rounded into the kitchen just in time to catch the older elf pulling a chocolate cake from the oven. 

 

“Ms. Hermione, you is late getting home. Master and Misses and Mister Malfoy will be here soon. Go and hurry, change before dinner.”

 

The elf sets the cake on the counter to cool before lightly pushing and guiding her down the hallway towards her bedroom. It’s just dinner with friends, not a pureblood society brunch, so she settles on a pair of soft muggle jeans and an oversized jumper, twisting her hair into a knot at the top of her head. A quick look in the mirror reveals the bags under her eyes, and it’s just as she’s finished blending in a swipe of concealer that she hears the floo, signalling the arrival of her dinner guests. 

 

There’s a comfort between the small group of friends, it’s something easy that comes from years-long friendships that have been built from surviving a war, even if they’d fought on different sides. Harry pours the elf-made wine, skipping over Hermione’s glass, as Draco tells a story of Pansy in their 4th year, when she’d been envious of Daphne Greengrass’ long golden locks and had tried a charm to change hers. The raven-haired girl has tears of laughter in her eyes as she smacks her hand across his arm before leaning her head on his shoulder. The movement is easy and reminds Hermione of her and Ron, before there was a  _ her and Ron _ . She catches Harry’s eye over the glass of wine he’s tipping back and he smiles a half smile at her. 

 

There’s an understanding amongst the friends, that the friendship between Harry and Hermione and Draco and Pansy is just that, a friendship, and she’s spent enough time around the two former Slytherins to know that theirs is only a lifelong friendship, despite the fact that their father’s had at one time been in negotiations for a marriage contract. She’s reaching for a second slice of chocolate cake when there’s a knock at the door. 

 

The four friends look at each other, curious glances as to who could possibly be showing up at her flat this late on a Wednesday night. There’s another knock at the door and both Draco and Harry rise to answer it, but Hermione is closer and reaches it before either of them have fully pulled away from the table. 

 

She pulls back slowly, stepping back just a fraction, her eyes darting nervously over the red-headed girl that stands in front of her. 

 

“Gin?” Her voice shakes as she asks a question she shouldn’t need to. She’s standing there, with a half smile on her face and a tan duffle bag tossed over her shoulder, wearing jeans and a Harpies jumper, her long red hair tied back into a ponytail. Hermione wonders briefly if she came straight from practice before she wonders what she’s even doing here. 

 

In the years after the war, Ginny Weasley threw herself into her Quidditch career, but it was after Harry married Pansy Parkinson that she stopped coming home for more than Christmas. She doesn’t remember the last time the two girls were alone together, without all of the Weasley family present, but she’s here now, standing in the doorway to her flat. She can still hear the echo of Pansy’s laughter, still hear Draco’s voice as he tells the story about Pansy’s orange hair, but she knows that moment is gone. She glances quickly over her shoulder, to where her three dinner guests are now all standing, curious looks on their face as to who this new arrival is. 

 

“Mione, are you going to invite me in?” Her voice is soft but it pulls Hermione out of her head, and she instinctively reaches a hand down to pull the girl into her. She hears the tan bag hit the floor as they break apart from their greeting, and she steps back to get a better look at her friend. Her eyes are puffy and red like she’s been crying and she watches as those brown eyes dart around the room, realizing that the two girls are not alone, that she’s just interrupted dinner. She’s about to ask her what she’s doing, why she’s arrived at her flat this late, but it’s Harry’s voice that breaks the silence.

 

“Ginny? What are you doing here?”

 

“My mom…” The girl stutters, watching as the man who once held her whole heart moves across the room, closer to the women who now holds his. “She owled, she said you were having a hard time with your pregnancy. I thought… I thought maybe you could use a friend…” Her eyes stare down at the wood floor as she rolls her foot nervously under her. In all of the years that Hermione has known Ginny Weasley, she has never appeared as nervous and unsure as she does now. 

 

“Kreacher-” There’s a crack as the elf appears instantly from wherever it is that he goes when he’s not visible. “Will you prepare the spare bedroom for Ginny? She’s going to be staying with us for a while.”

 

“Miss Weasley.” The elf bows his head slightly as he greets the red haired girl before disapparating away to prepare her room. 

 

“Cake, Weaslette?” Back at the table, Draco has managed to configure a flower vase into an extra chair, and Hermione watches as he plates a slice of chocolate cake and pours a glass of wine for the new arrival. 

  
  


“So, you and Malfoy?” It’s Friday night a few weeks later, after drinks at the pub in Muggle London that finds Ginny and Hermione curled into one another on the couch in Hermione’s living room, a tattered afghan blanket thrown over both of them. She’s forgotten how easily their friendship is or was. Sure, her and Pansy are close friends, but there’s a level of comfort that comes only with old friends and Ginny has been like her sister since she was 11. It’s surprising with how much she’s missed having Ginny around, even if she’s just realizing it now that she’s here. 

 

“Me and Malfoy?” She’s trying not to let her voice shake, but suddenly all she can think about is his grey eyes that kept darting up over his pint of beer to meet hers, teasing and taunting her. It’s too soon, she tells herself, before realizing she’s been telling herself it’s too soon for weeks. Her hand comes down to rest on her belly, rubbing anxiously to where her little girl is growing inside of her. It’s only been three months since Ron’s death, it’s too soon. 

 

“Come on, Hermione. You can’t tell me you don’t see it.”

 

“See what? We’re friends.”

 

“You might be friends, but I’m just saying. That man does not want to just be your  _ friend _ . 

 

* * *

  
  


A few hours later, as she’s snuggled deep into that patchwork quilt that doesn’t smell like Ron anymore, she feels a fluttering in her stomach. On instinct, her hand comes down, only to be greeted by a sharp jab. Excitement rushes over her as her little one kicks until she moves to sit up, anxious to wake Ginny and she realizes it’s not Ginny she wants to run to. 

 

A feeling of loneliness washes over her, but maybe she doesn’t have to be truly alone in this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the love to @shrugheadjones for coming on board with this and being my beta and my dear friend in the mess that is fandom. 
> 
> follow me on tumblr @miss-eee


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wasn’t her Draco. He wasn’t her anything, besides maybe her best friend who sometimes wiped her forehead after she’d been sick and rubbed her feet after a long day and bought her the good chocolates that he knew she liked. He wasn’t hers.

_ H- _

_ Meeting Blaise and Theo for a pint at the Leaky. See you at the Pub. _

_ -D _

 

She read the words over again, and then once more, feeling her heart sink in a way it shouldn’t. She saw Draco for lunch every day of the week, except for Friday when he worked in the field. But every Friday, without fail, he’d floo into her office just as she was finishing up her day, and they’d walk through London to the pub. It was different than their usual lunches or dinner at Potter’s. It was the simplicity of Muggle London and his slightly frazzled demeanour. 

 

The way, sometimes, when the sidewalks were crowded, she’d bump into him and he’d tuck her hand into his arm. The way that, sometimes, when it rained, he’d magic his wand into an umbrella and hold it over her. The way that, sometimes, on their walk back, they’d stop at this little chocolate shop and buy a small box of turtles to eat on the way home. Something about their walks on Friday nights just felt  _ different. _

 

When the large chimes in the Ministry signal her that it is time to leave, she hesitates, moving slowly as she organizes her work, gathering her cloak and twisting her hair up into a bun. To be honest, she was dreading walking through London alone. She’d become so accustomed to having him with her, even just to make snarky remarks in her ear about Muggle clothing. Sighing, she latched the cloak around her. She could do this, it was just a few blocks, and then she’d see him at the pub. 

 

She did not, however, expect to walk in and find her usual spot, at their usual table, occupied by long, sleek blonde hair resting on Draco’s shoulder, her arm linked under his. She’d only seen them a few times since the war, but she couldn’t recall either Theo or Blaise have long blonde hair. 

 

As she approached the table, she heard a screech as Pansy Potter yelled her name, stumbling slightly as she jumped from the tall bar stool. 

 

“‘Mione!” Pansy tugged on her arm, pulling her closer to the group, closer to that head of long, sleek blonde hair. Draco turned to greet her, a half smile on her face. She wanted to ask him about his day, about drinks with Theo and Blaise, but that head of blonde was still attached to his arm. Before he could move to kiss her cheek in their usual greeting, she was attacked on both sides by two sets of strong arms wrapping around her, one hand coming down to rest on her stomach. 

 

“Granger. Take this big cloak off.” Blaise undid the latch, and Theo gave her a little twirl, both men laughing as she spun on her heels. “Pregnancy suits you, my dear. You are looking delightful.” 

 

“Blaise, you flatter me too much. I still get bouts of morning sickness and my feet swell, so I always have to carry a change of shoes.” Blaise leaned down, planting a kiss on her forehead, as Theo moved in, grabbing a hold of her arm.

“You’re feet. You need to sit. Here.” He pulled the stool out next to the head of long, sleek blonde hair, holding her hand slightly as he helped her up. 

 

She turned, finally getting a look at the face that belonged to that beautiful hair, and she felt her heart sink again in a way it shouldn’t. This girl was beautiful in all of the ways that she was not, her bright blue eyes shining in the barroom light. Nothing about this girl screamed  _ “pregnant and exhausted” _ or  _ “grieving widow who may or may not be falling for her best friend”  _ or  _ “I’d much rather be wearing pyjamas than heels right now” _ . 

 

“I’m sure you don’t remember me. I was a few years behind you at Hogwarts, but my sister, Daphne was in your year. Astoria Greengrass.” The girl reached out her hand, perfectly manicured in the softest pink, and for a moment too long, Hermione stared at it. At her. At this girl, who had slid in here into  _ her  _ seat, next to her Draco, and was unknowingly upended everything.

 

_ Her Draco. _

 

He wasn’t  _ her Draco. _ He wasn’t  _ her anything,  _ besides maybe her best friend who sometimes wiped her forehead after she’d been sick and rubbed her feet after a long day and bought her the good chocolates that he knew she liked. He wasn’t  _ hers. _

 

“Hermione Granger. It’s nice to meet you, Astoria.”

 

* * *

 

She kept trying to find a reason to dislike Astoria Greengrass, but she was coming up short. Over the course of their meal and pints (water only for her), Hermione had learned the younger girl had freed her house-elves after her father was imprisoned following the war, that she donated heavily to the War Orphan Foundation, and that she was currently pursuing a mastery in Charms. She was beautiful and poised in all the ways a Pureblood should be and she commanded the table with a grace and wit that made even Hermione envious. 

 

In short, Astoria Greengrass was perfect. 

 

She didn’t miss the way Draco peeked at her over the beautiful blonde hair that was currently resting on his shoulder. It was a look of apologies, that their usual Friday night had taken this odd little twist. She let out a small yawn, her exhaustion finally catching up with her. Draco instantly moved from his bar stool, jostling Astoria. She looked slighted, mildly disgruntled at having lost Draco’s arm as her head rest, but he was instantly at Hermione’s side, helping her off the stool. 

 

“It’s late, Mione. Let me walk you home.”

 

“Don’t be silly, Malfoy. I’m a grown woman and a strong witch, I’ll be fine…” Her voice trailed off, muffled as he slipped her cloak over her shoulder before clasping it together. 

 

“I’ll see you Monday for lunch?”

 

“Yes, Monday. Have a good night.” She leaned up on her toes, even in heels she was still a head shorter than him, reaching to kiss him on the cheek. A quick wave goodnight to the rest of the table, and she was soon walking alone through the streets of Muggle London. 

 

Walking past the chocolate shop with the turtles that she liked so much, she ducked in and splurged on the medium sized box. If she hid them from Ginny, they might last through the weekend. 

 

* * *

 

She must have fallen asleep in the chair again because there was a kink in her neck when she started to stir the next morning. The box of chocolates sat empty on the table next to her, along with her copy of  _ What to Expect When You’re Expecting _ . The book, however, offered no insight on what to do when you were a widow and found yourself having possible feelings for your best friend, who had brought the most perfect date to Friday Night Pub Night the night before. 

 

She’d watched him the night before, a smile on his face that she didn’t often see around anyone else but her. She watched the way Astoria laughed at his jokes, clutched tightly to his arm, and saw something that made her heart pang.  _ Happiness. _ He could be happier with her, he  _ would  _ be happier with her. Astoria was the perfect, Pureblood socialite that would fit effortlessly into the Malfoy family, while she was a pregnant widow. He deserved more than this, more than vomit and foot rubs, he deserved to be happy. 

 

* * *

  
  


Monday morning found her stuck in a meeting with Kingsley that ran late, so she’d had her assistant owl Malfoy to cancel. 

 

Tuesday, she brought leftover roast from the night before and owled him that she was behind on a project and needed to work through lunch. 

 

On Wednesday, Pansy needed assistance with new fabric swatches. 

 

Thursday, Molly Weasley turned up with the insistence that she take the afternoon off and spend it shopping and lunching in Diagon Alley. 

 

And Friday, he was in the field. He didn’t even owl to remind her like he usually did. She supposed maybe, he’d finally caught on that she might be avoiding him, but she wasn’t even entirely sure that was what she was doing. Maybe she was only letting herself down easy, putting a distance between them, giving him a chance to find the happiness that he deserved. 

 

She stayed late on Friday, the Ministry was dark when she wrapped her cloak around her shoulders, choosing to floo directly home and skip Pub night for once. 

 

The house was quiet, she wasn’t sure if Ginny was in her room or out with her teammates, or maybe even out with Blaise, who’d spent last Friday night laying the Zabini charm on thick. She changed into a pair of soft silk pyjamas and was rummaging in the fridge for leftovers when she heard her floo activate. 

 

“Hermione?”

 

“Malfoy?”

 

He looked desperate and frazzled, standing in her living room with his hair sticking up like he’d been pulling his fingers through it. Her mind flashed back to that night he’d come to tell her Ron had been killed and on instinct, her heart rate increased. 

 

“Draco? What’s wrong?”

 

He moved swiftly across the room, leaning down to kiss her cheek, wrapping his hands around her waist. 

 

“I needed to see you. You’ve been avoiding me this week and you skipped Pub night…” His voice trailed to almost silent, the perfectly poised Malfoy she knew was crumbling before her. 

 

“Not avoiding you, just... busy. And I was tired after the work and wanted a night of quiet.” He was shaking, frantic almost as he paced her living room. She reached her hand for his arm, guiding him to the large reclining chair and directing him to sit. “You’re worrying me. Why are you really here?”

 

“This.” In his hands, he twisted over and over an envelope, which had a seal she didn’t recognize at first, until she did. She reached for the envelope, feeling the weight in her hands before turning it over, and reading the seal that she often corresponded with. 

 

“You can read it if you want,” he’d leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees and his head in his hands. “But the gist of it is, they’re sending Harry and I to the MACUSA for a few months. They’ve been having some problems with a group of dark wizards and thought they’d bring in some experts.”

 

“When do you leave?” She didn’t notice the way her voice trembled, the way the letter shook in her hands. 

 

“Tonight. Our portkey leaves in an hour. I’ve still got to pack my bag, but… I just wanted you to know. I wanted to see you…” He’s standing up now, cradling her face in his hands, and she thinks that maybe for a minute, he’s going to kiss her. “I’ll owl when I can. Be good, Granger.” He leans down, but not towards her lips. His find a place on her forehead, holding her there for a moment longer than is usual for them, and she feels the tears in her eyes start to fall onto her cheeks. 

 

“Be safe, Draco.”

 

And then, just like that, he’s stepping back through her floo. 

 

She feels her body start to fall, sinking into the chair that just moments before he sat in, looking so dishevelled and terrified. She hears a door open down the hall, but her mind doesn’t register until she sees Ginny standing before her. The girl climbs into the chair beside her, wrapping her arms around her and brushing her curls away from her face. Her face becomes a mess of salty tears as her body rocks with sobs. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm blown away by all the love from you! I'm truly sorry (not really) for giving you "all of the feelings" as my lovely beta @shrugheadjonesthethird calls them!
> 
> follow me on tumblr @miss-eee


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're in Seattle this week. It's cold and rainy and reminds me of home. The city is famous for its coffee, but nothing here tastes as good as the cups you make for me. Everything here reminds me of you and I wish you were here to share it all with me.

 

_ H- _

 

_ New York is everything I hate about the world. It’s dirty and loud and too crowded. Just this morning, Harry and I were trying to cross the street to this coffee shop across from our hotel and were almost run over by this yellow death contraption. Harry says to tell you it was a taxi cab, but I stand firm in my belief that that  _ thing _ is a death trap.  _

 

_ I could tell you all about MACUSA, but you know, you’ve been here.  _

 

_ Did you hate New York as much as I do?  _

 

_ Harry introduced me to this thing called  _ pizza-  _ you eat it with your hands like a barbarian but it’s delicious. Do you know about  _ pizza?  _ Harry made me order what’s called a  _ Hawaiian _ , with ham and pineapple. Pineapple should not be warm.  _

 

_ I can’t tell you much about our assignment, but they're hoping to utilize Harry and I to infiltrate this collection of dark wizards. We’ll be travelling a lot, and I’ll try to owl when I can, but I’m sure the post will take a while.  _

 

_ It’s a Friday here. Harry and I found this pub that has fish and chips and made plans with some of the Aurors from MACUSA for dinner tonight. They call them  _ bars _ here and I’m sure the chips aren’t as good as home.  _

 

_ Be good.  _

 

_ -D _

 

* * *

 

Draco, 

 

Pansy went with me to my ultrasound appointment today. Little girl Weasley is measuring right on track, only 8 weeks left the healer said. My morning sickness has finally subsided and has been replaced with what Molly calls “nesting” which means I’m cleaning and organizing the flat constantly. Kreacher isn’t happy, he keeps going around behind me and re-cleaning or re-organizing things. The other morning, he was muttering about the way I had folded a fitted sheet that he found in the linen closet. 

 

Work is slow, thankful there’s been no major breaches of secrecy, which unfortunately means I’ve been relegated to Kingsley’s plus one for all major public functions. My maternity work wardrobe has increased tenfold thanks to Pansy, who insists I can’t wear the same outfit in public twice. She even designed an entire maternity line for Petal and Otter, which thanks to our age set, has been hugely well-received. 

 

Yes, I hate New York as much as you do. I think the only people who like New York are New Yorkers, who will tell you it’s the best place on Earth. 

 

And yes, I know what a taxi cab is. They have them here, too. You just don’t pay attention to anything when we’re in Muggle London, other than trying not to run into Muggles. 

 

Did you forget that I’m a Muggleborn? Of course, I know what pizza is. It’s not as popular here as it is in the States, but you’ll need to order a supreme next time, tell Harry I agreed that pineapple does not belong on pizza. 

 

I worry about you sometimes.  I know you and Harry seem to think you’re invincible, but remember that you are not. We’ve lost too much already, so no more on what you’re doing. Only on where you go. 

 

I hope the chips aren’t as good as home, otherwise, you won’t have a reason to come back. 

 

Be safe. 

 

-Hermione

 

* * *

 

_ H- _

 

_ Have you ever been to Dallas? Merlin, if New York felt like a different world, Texas is another universe. I didn’t know Muggles could be like... this. Apparently, we landed during some ro-deo event, and Texan’s don’t normally dress like this, but I can’t even describe what this is. They wear these little necklaces around their neck that are really neckties but look like little ropes. The jeans and button up shirts I can almost understand, but the size of their belt buckles. Hermione, Harry and I saw one that was bigger than my hand. MY HAND. And don’t even get me started on their fascination with what they call  _ cowboy boots _ and  _ cowboy hats _.  _

 

_ So- back to this ro-deo thing. It’s kind of like bullfighting in Spain, my father used to take me when I was younger, except instead of fighting the bull, the matador is riding the bull. It didn’t look very hard, couldn’t be more difficult than riding a broom, so Harry and I thought we’d give it a try. Long story short, I lost 100 galleons and had my first experience with American healers. They’re not as nice as the healers at St Mungos, they just gave me pain potion and told me I’d be fine in a few days, didn’t even bother re-setting my ribs or giving me a bruise paste. Harry and I found some apothecary that would sell me  _ Skelegrow _ without a  _ prescription _. Apparently here, you need to have a  _ prescription _ to get any healing potions not from a healer.  _

 

_ Harry and I had this thing called barbeque. Have you heard of it? It’s essentially a spicy or sweet sauce poured over meat. Any kind of meat- chicken, beef, pork. And it’s messy. We had ribs and pulled pork sandwiches, and I could almost feel my mother’s disappointment because you eat it with your hands. Ruined one of those frilly ro-deo button-ups. Dripped the sauce all down the front of me with my first bite, and no amount of  _ scourgify _ would clean it off. Threw it right in the dumpster on our walk back to the hotel.  _

 

_ We aren’t able to get the Prophet here, so you may need to send me a picture of you and Kingsley at your next event so I can properly judge this new line from Petal and Otter. There’s an Auror with us who’s wife is newly pregnant, and I’m sure she’d love to be dressed in the best maternity fashions that wizarding England has to offer.  _

 

_ And yes, sometimes I do forget. Oh! We also tried that supreme like you suggested. I liked the peppers and mushrooms much better than the pineapple.  _

 

_ And don’t worry about me or the chips. I’ll be home soon.  _

 

_ Be good. _

 

_ -D _

 

* * *

 

 

Draco-

 

I haven’t gotten a letter from you yet, so I’m hoping this finds its way to you. 

 

I had another appointment today, and the healer printed this for me. It’s called an ultrasound, it’s an image of the baby. She was very active today, look at her wave her foot at you. 

 

We are missing you here. 

 

-Hermione

 

* * *

 

_ H- _

 

_ I’m writing you this from a sandy beach on the Pacific Coast. LA is beautiful, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt further from home. It’s warm and the sun is shining, and the palm trees are beautiful, but it’s too warm and too bright and I can see a palm tree in a picture book.  _

 

_ I just want to be home.  _

 

_ Thank you for sending me the ultrasound picture. The little bookworm will be here soon! And that picture of you and Kingsley at the Muggle/Wizard mixer with the Prime Minister. Tell Pansy to dress you in more blues, it brings out the gold flecks in your eyes.  _

 

_ There’s not much more to write. Harry and I had street tacos today, once again making my mother cringe by eating with my hands. Do all Americans eat all food with their hands? It’s slightly disturbing.  _

 

_ Missing you always.  _

 

_ -D _

 

* * *

 

Draco-

 

You ask me if all Americans eat with their hands like I should know? I’m muggleborn, not American. I think because they’re always on the run that they eat with their hands. Have you had a fast food burger yet? Those will make your mother cringe as well. 

 

No, I've never had barbecue, but now I've got a vivid picture of you covered in sauce. 

 

I’ve never been to California, but I’m sure it’s as beautiful as you say. 

 

I found out something odd yesterday. We’ve given up on pub nights on Friday since it’s just us girls. Ginny and I host a wine night instead. Kreacher loves it, he spends all week planning a wine menu and finding the perfect cheeses to compliment the wines. The healers have cleared me to have one small glass a week.

 

Anyways, about last night. Astoria came with Pansy since she’s somehow integrated herself into our small group of friends. I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much I absolutely adore her. She’s quite literally perfect, and I enjoy her similar opinions on house-elves and hearing her experience growing up in a household surrounded by them. 

 

Her and Pansy had the funniest little story to tell, involving you and a certain scar-headed friend of ours, a police car and Las Vegas. Seems like you're developing quite the record in the States. I thought I'd told you to be careful--that meant avoiding the law as well. 

 

Also, I feel our friend group will soon be growing again. Pansy skipped the wine last night, and I've never known her to pass on a glass. 

 

Be safe, Draco. Come home soon. 

 

-Hermione 

 

* * *

 

_ H- _

 

_ I'll tell you the full Vegas story when I get home. There's a lot of hand gestures involved, but long story short, I lost another 100 galleons to Harry. Thought you might enjoy the mugshot, although it doesn't move like wizard pictures do, so you don't get the full effect of my laughter.  _

 

_ We're in Seattle this week. It's cold and rainy and reminds me of home. The city is famous for its coffee, but nothing here tastes as good as the cups you make for me. Everything here reminds me of you and I wish you were here to share it all with me.  _

 

_ You’re right. Astoria is perfect, and the ideal Pureblood wife. At least in my mother's eyes. If our parents had their way, we would have been married years ago. However, I had the great fortune of witnessing an epic Astoria-melt-down in 4th year when none of us would invite her to the Yule Ball and her parents demanded she come home for Christmas and not ruin her sister Daphne’s “big moment”. I've only ever viewed Astoria as a little sister, and although she can be whiny and clingy, I'm still immensely proud of the work she does and her changing views about Pureblood culture. If you're looking to play matchmaker to your new friend, I suggest you speak to Theo. I have it on good authority that he does not view Astoria as simply a little sister.  _

 

_ By the time this gets to you, I'm sure you'll already know. Turns out, your suspicions were right, and we'll be blessed with a Parkinson/Potter offspring in approximately seven more months. Potter petitioned Kingsley to bring him home, his portkey leaves at the end of the week. I wish I was able to come with him, but we're close to closing in on the leader of this uprising.  _

 

_ I know you'll worry more with me being alone here, but it's not good for you or the baby. Let Potter put together the nursery furniture and Kreacher clean your flat - don't tax your magic with unnecessary things.  _

 

_ I'll be home as soon as I can. Be good, Granger.  _

 

_ -D _

* * *

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a lot of you were worried about Astoria!
> 
> All of the love to my darling @shrugheadjonesthethird
> 
> follow me on tumblr @miss-eee


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a second nature, her hand comes down to rest across her stomach, and she realizes that that was how she’d managed to not notice the changes in her small group of friends. Somewhere between still missing Ron, letters from Draco, Harry putting together the white wooden crib that was now decorated with soft pink blankets, and pressing the rose petals from a bouquet from Ron into piece of art that now hung above said crib, she’d forgotten to take notice of those around her.

For two more months, the letters continued from places like Chicago, Washington D.C. and New Orleans. He wrote about the food and the odd American customs and his usual grumblings about Muggles. She wrote back with updates on ‘the little bookworm’, sending cutouts from the Prophet when she attended an event with Kingsley and attempted to explain certain Muggle behaviors, but the fascination with Americans and Baseball was something she didn't understand. 

 

For two more months, the letters continued. 

 

Until they stopped. 

 

It had been 3 weeks since his last letter, but she continued to send him owls, continued to send him updates even without a response. It made her feel as if he’d been getting her letters, the way she continued to send them without a reply. 

 

She tried to continue with her life as if she was still receiving letters. She kept busy at work, preparing her assistant to handle anything that may occur over her upcoming maternity leave. Pansy or Ginny attended all of her appointments with her, holding her hand and sharing in her growing joy. 

 

Her nights were the worst. At night, she curled into her bed under Ron's old quilt, pulling it tight to her chest and silenced her room so as not to wake Ginny. Some nights she was plagued with old nightmares from the war and her short time at Malfoy Manor and she woke screaming and drenched in a cold sweat. Some nights, tears caked her cheeks until her body finally succumbed to exhaustion, her hand resting across her stomach. More nights than she'd like to admit though, she lay awake staring past the roses from Ron that sat on the window ledge, still holding under a  _ stasis,  _ and further out the window, pleading with the night sky to bring her an owl from the States. 

 

Friday's were once again spent at the Pub, now that Harry was back from the States. Occasionally, the small group was joined by Astoria or Blaise. They had a comfortable dynamic, but all seemed to avoid the topic of pale blonde hair that none of them had heard from in weeks. Harry tried to reassure them, reassure  _ her _ , that if something was truly wrong, he'd have been notified. Most likely, Draco had finally infiltrated the cell of dark wizards, and was too far undercover to respond. She told herself that was the real reason why her last owl had been returned unopened. 

 

On this particular Friday, she’d left the office late, her last official day of work before her leave started. She gathered her cloak around her, glancing once more across her office, making sure everything was in order. In the days and weeks to come, everything would change, but her office still felt like this last piece of sanctuary, this last place of comfort and home. Here, there were no baby books or pink plush blankets. No closets filled with tiny baby outfits- an array of pink tutus and soft robes. As much as she had tried to contain the nursery to the one room in the flat, the pink and grey and beige had spilled over and little pieces were covering almost every surface. Her flat that had once been her and Ron’s, had vastly been taken over by the little one who hadn’t even arrived yet. She took a deep breath, glancing once more to the chaise lounger, imagining Ron laying there relaxed, his eyes closed, catching an afternoon nap. One more look. One more moment of peace before she stepped out into the London night. 

 

It was a rare clear night in London and the weather was almost warm and mild. She thought briefly of hailing a taxi, but the walk to the pub was short and would probably be good for her. She’d worn a pair of sensible flats today. Much to Pansy’s dismay, Hermione’s feet had swollen too much to fit into heels. The walk carries with it the usual bustle, but the crowds seem to move out of her way when they see her approaching on the sidewalk, and it’s only when she’s pulling open the doors of the pub that she realizes she looks like a small house draped in a large piece of tan wool. As has become custom, she’s the last to arrive. 

 

She makes her way slowly to the group, taking notice that Theo is filling in a spot towards the end, furthest away from where Astoria has chosen to sit. She hasn’t seen him since that night with Draco, hasn’t had a chance to ask him what Draco’s letter meant about Theo not viewing Astoria as just a little sister. She settles into her chair next to Ginny and across from Theo, smiling politely at the newest member of their Friday night ritual. 

 

In all of their wine nights, shopping trips, teas and gossip sessions, Astoria has never once mentioned Theo, but sitting here tonight, Hermione watches them, seeing them in a different way than she did that night when she only saw Astoria draped over Draco. Now, she sees the way Astoria purses her lips and pushes her hair over her shoulder when she catches Theo watching her as she talks softly to Pansy. Her eyes darted back and forth between both of them, watching how closely connected they seem, how they move around each other unconsciously, even without speaking to one another. There was something here, something more that she’d been missing. 

 

Remaining the silent observer, her attention turns to Ginny, sat next to Blaise who was currently whispering something into her ear. She watches as her friend blushes, giggles and then lightly smacks his arm, actions she hadn’t seen from her friend since, well, since ever. She’d been so distracted by the lack of letters from Draco to see it, but it suddenly all came to her at once. The way Blaise’s name had seemed to come up more and more in conversation with the redhead, the way Ginny had delayed going back to Wales despite practices starting the following week. 

 

How was it that she’d managed to overlook not one, but two of her friend's romantic interests. 

 

As a second nature, her hand comes down to rest across her stomach, and she realizes that  _ that _ was how she’d managed to not notice the changes in her small group of friends. Somewhere between still missing Ron, letters from Draco, Harry putting together the white wooden crib that was now decorated with soft pink blankets, and pressing the rose petals from a bouquet from Ron into piece of art that now hung above said crib, she’d forgotten to take notice of those around her. 

 

She leaned back further in her chair, watching the way Harry fawned over Pansy, remembering how Pansy had lamented just the day before to her that Harry had insisted that Pansy take time off from the shop, that she was too busy with new designs and the new maternity line and she needed to rest. Pansy, who at almost five months pregnant, was just barely starting to show. Pansy kept reminding Harry that she was pregnant, not broken, and completely capable of managing her shop by herself. Unknown to Harry, she’d already caved and hired an assistant who was scheduled to start on Monday. 

 

She sat back, sipping her water and watching. Watching all of them, the way they moved and laughed and spoke to one another. Her eyes darted over to the empty chair across from Harry, and it struck her as she realized it wasn’t Ron she imagined sitting in that spot, but a certain pale blonde.  _ That she hadn’t heard from in 3 weeks. _

 

She pushed herself away from the table, sliding from the chair with the intent of heading towards the bathroom, when it happened, seemingly all at once. Her hand reached out, grabbing the back of her chair as she coupled over, a griping pain coursing through her body. All eyes at the table swiftly moved to her, but it was the quiet Theo who moved first, grabbing her by the shoulders to pull her flush back against him, his body holding her up. 

 

It can’t be time, yet. He’s not here. She can’t do this without him. 

 

“‘Mione, it’s time. We need to get you to St Mungos.” It’s Harry’s voice that she hears, holding onto the arm that Theo isn’t, both of them holding her now. 

 

_ It can’t be time yet. He’s not here. I can’t do this without him. _

 

She’s aware that people in the pub are starting to stare, taking in this overly pregnant lady who very clearly has something running down her leg, but she can’t register their faces or their voices. Her vision is tunnelled to that chair across from Harry that still remains empty. 

 

It can’t be time yet. He’s not here. She can’t do this without him. 

 

“Harry… I need… he needs to be here. I can’t do this without him.” Her voice is jumbled and broken as Harry and Theo rush her out the back door which leads to a small alley before swiftly side apparating her to the lobby of St Mungos. 

 

“I know, ‘Mione. I’ll do what I can.”

 

“Harry… I need him… he needs to be here.  _ Draco. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the love, comments and kudos. Extra love to @shrugheadjonesthethird for supporting me and encouraging me thru this adventure!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As her eyes adjusted to the bright room, she glanced over to the small crib situated beside her bed. Instantly, a sense of panic washed over her, as her daughter was not in the crib. There was no moment of calmness, only panic, as she screamed for the healer on duty.

The last few hours of his life still felt surreal and he still wasn’t entirely sure how he’d made it  _ here.  _

 

He’d been sitting in a cafe in Chicago, across from Nathaniel Toth, the dark wizard MACUSA had him tracking for the last several months. The man was large, taller than him, filling out doorways as he crouched to step through. He kept his hair cropped short in the style of the American military, and despite his large size, his suits were always perfectly tailored. He moved throughout the room with an air of ease and purpose, well-spoken in a way that many Americans Draco had encountered were not. 

 

He was terrifying though, much in the same way that Voldemort had been. His disciples followed without question and without remorse. Toth’s ideals were similarly aligned with Voldemort’s, aiming to rid the States of No-Maj, despite the strict MACUSA laws prohibiting interaction between wizards and No-Maj. No, the law wasn’t enough for Toth, the Americans simply had a too large a population. A purge, he’d called it. A purge of non-magical blood, for no other reason than simply, the Americans wanted more freedom to openly practice their magic. 

 

It had happened rather quickly. One moment, he’s sitting in the cafe with Toth sipping a coffee, discussing the merits of open wand usage, the next moment, his MACUSA partner, Rooker, is signalling him towards the back alley. Still the pureblood he was raised to be, Draco had excused himself from the conversation, claiming a trip to the loo, before slipping out the back door. He’d barely started to barrage Rooker for interrupting his meeting, before Rooker told him he needed to go,  _ now,  _ that the portkey was set to leave the Chicago MACUSA office in approximately thirty minutes.

 

His hands were shaking as they shook Toth’s, leaving him with an apology and a family emergency and a promise to owl soon. He hadn’t had time to stop at his hotel room and gather his things, checking his watch in the taxi and realizing he only had 18 minutes until the portkey was scheduled to leave. 

 

For home. For England. For her. 

 

He’d landed moments later in the International Portkey Department of Ministry, pushing through the crowds and handing his wand over anxiously, as was custom after international travel, before quickly apparating to St Mungos. He’d rushed through the lobby towards the maternity ward, disregarding the shouts from the healers he’d passed to slow down. 

 

He’d found her room easily with the directions given from Potter, the ward wasn’t the largest at St Mungos and it was surprisingly easy to navigate. It was quiet, all the earlier visitors had gone home, and all of the lights in the hallway were off. He paused outside the door, taking a moment to catch his breath and steady his hands before softly pushing it open. 

 

The room was dim, only a small sliver of moonlight breaking through a crack in the curtains. She was sleeping in the bed, her curls loosely falling over the pillow. He thought about waking her, about telling her he was finally  _ home _ , telling her how much he had missed her, but there was no doubt that she was exhausted, so he settled on letting her sleep while she could. 

 

A soft whimper from the crib beside her drew his eyes away from the sleeping beauty. He leaned down, taking in the small bundle wrapped in a soft white and pink striped blanket. 

 

“Hello, little bookworm.” He whispered to her as he reached down, brushing his hand over her head of bright red curls. 

 

“Would you like me to show you how to hold her, sir?” He had been so enthralled with the little bundle before him, he’d failed to notice the healer coming into the room. Without a response, she crossed the short distance towards him and directed him to sit in the reclining chair by the window. She showed him how to support the little one’s head and neck, cradling her into the crook of his elbow. 

 

None of the books he’d read had prepared him for this, they hadn’t warned him that at this particular moment his entire world would shift. The little redhead cooed softly, her eyelashes fluttering along her tiny cheeks. He brought a hand up, gently stroking across her chin, her cheeks, her hair, taking in all of her tiny features. He never thought he’d love a redhead, a Weasley at that, but this little one held his entire world instantly. Anything she ever asked for he’d give her. Anything she ever needed was hers. 

 

He leaned back in the chair, the little bundle wrapped tightly in his arms, as he whispered to her how sorry he was that he was late, how loud and boisterous the Americans were, but how if she one day wanted to go, he would take her. He told her a story about the time her father had tried to hex him to eat slugs, but his wand had backfired and he’d ended up hexing himself, about the time her Uncle Harry had come back for him, saving him from the  _ fiendfyre _ . He watched as her eyes slowly drifted shut again, and he sat like that for hours, simply holding her and watching her sleep, until he too closed his eyes.

 

* * *

  
  


It wasn’t the sound of a screaming newborn that woke her up, but the bright sun shining in through the curtains. Hermione stirred slowly, trying to gather her bearings before feeling slightly terrified that she’d slept for the last four or so hours straight.  _ Wasn’t one of the joys of a newborn being woken up every hour? _

 

As her eyes adjusted to the bright room, she glanced over to the small crib situated beside her bed. Instantly, a sense of panic washed over her, as her daughter was not in the crib. There was no moment of calmness, only panic, as she screamed for the healer on duty. 

 

Suddenly, everything happened at once. At the same moment as the healer came rushing into her room, she heard a cry from the corner, her eyes immediately drawn to the source. There, in the reclining visitor’s chair, holding a very loudly screaming newborn, was a certain head of blonde hair.  _ Draco.  _

 

He was still slowly waking as she reached for the tiny bundle in his arms, feeling relief wash over her at knowing her daughter hadn’t mysteriously disappeared in the middle of the night. 

 

“Hi.” Her voice was soft, timid and shy and more than slightly embarrassed from her earlier outburst. She gently rocked the bundle cradled in her arms, her cries softening at the sound of her mother’s voice. 

 

“Hi.” There was a gravel in his voice that sent chills down her spine and she watched as he sleepily rubbed his eyes, running a hand through his already messed locks. 

 

“You had all of us worried for a bit there. When we didn’t… when you didn’t return my owl…” Her words cut off, unable to state out loud her darkest fears. 

 

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… he knows who we are, everyone there does… and I couldn’t risk it once I got too close. I couldn’t have him finding out what you are to me.”

 

_ What you are to me. _ She repeated those words over again in her head as she settled herself back into the bed, delicately rearranging her thin gown so as not to expose herself to him as she nursed her daughter. 

 

They sat in silence for a while, both awkward and comfortable but thankful to be in each other’s presence, until she had finished feeding. 

 

“Do you want to hold her again?” 

 

The tiny bundle was covered completely by his large arms as he tucked her in closer to his chest. Hermione watched as he ran his thumb across her tiny cheek, the way her small hand curled around his finger. 

 

“What’s your name, little one?”

 

“Rose. Rose Elizabeth Weasley.” 

 

“She’s perfect, ‘Mione.”

 

“I think so, too."

 

* * *

 

They passed the next few hours talking about his trip to MACUSA, finally hearing the full story of how they’d accidentally stolen the cop car in Vegas. A steady stream of visitors--that included everyone from Molly Weasley to Astoria--came through the small room before the healer informed her she was cleared to go home. 

 

Admittedly, she was beyond exhausted. She’d planned on napping while Rose slept, but having Draco back, she’d spent that time hearing him go on about Toth and his extremist views on Muggles and the terrifying following he was creating there. He was charismatic and attractive and wasn’t that a trait of all evil villains?

 

The healer came to release them both just before lunch. The apparition to her flat caused the little bundle to burst into another bout of screams, but she watched as Draco just held her closer to his chest, his large arms covering the tiny newborn, as he whispered to her how sorry he was. She was moderately worried, despite her friends stopping in all morning, she’d insisted on peace and quiet when she returned home, and she was slightly afraid that when she opened her door, they would all be waiting for her. Instead, after twisting her wand to unlock the door, the only greeter waiting for her was Kreacher. 

 

His arms reached out, snatching up the little bundle and in a flurry of words, kept repeating to her over and over how happy he was to serve the “ _ little Mistress Weasley.” _ She was chuckling to herself as Kreacher carried Rose off down the hall to the nursery when she noticed Draco still standing next to her, stretching and yawning. 

 

“I’m going to run a bath, but you’re welcome to use the spare shower if you’d like, and then I’ll make us a soup. I’m sure Kreacher will take good care of Rose for a few hours, he hasn’t stopped talking about her for days.”

 

“I don’t want to impose. I’m sure you’re exhausted, and I haven’t been home in months.” She watched as he nervously rocked back on his heels, like there was more he wanted to say, as if he didn’t want to leave her just yet. 

 

“Or you could stay. Stay. Floo home if you need clothes, but stay. You’ve been gone for so long, I’m not ready for you to be gone again yet.”

 

He moved across the room, pulling her into his arms and leaning down to kiss her forehead. 

 

“I’m not ready to leave you again, either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the love and comments, and to the amazing @shrugheadjonesthethird for dealing with this mess
> 
> follow me on tumblr @ miss-eee


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, you're still here? Good, me too. I really want to give you some excuse that includes grad school finals, real life and writer's block, but hey. 
> 
> All of the beta love to @shrugheadjonesthethird for supporting and encouraging me, and all the amazing work she does.

  
  


That first night, no one slept. Not Ginny, who only had three days left of her leave before she returned to the Harpies. Not Kreacher, who spent the night running between the nursery carrying warm bottles and fresh blankets and the kitchen, where he proceeded to prepare a full roast chicken dinner. Not Draco, who cradled the small bundle in his arms as he walked the apartment, trying to soothe her small cries. And certainly not Hermione, who despite the complete exhaustion that came after giving birth, found herself following Draco and Rose around the house, correcting his arm to better support her head, and relieving him only when Rose needed a nappy change.

That first week passed in a haze of tiredness and exhaustion that accompany any newborn’s arrival, along with a steady stream of visitors. Molly brought with her a weeks worth of meals, despite Kreacher’s grumblings. Harry and Pansy brought with them an assortment of soft pink baby outfits along with a beautiful soft silk pyjama set for Hermione. 

 

On Thursday, while Rose and Draco were getting a much-needed nap in the reclining chair, Hermione sat on the bed in the spare bedroom with Ginny, refolding the clothes as she stuffed them into her duffel bag. The short few months of her friend’s leave had gone by too fast, but she would be forever thankful that the time had mended their friendship and she held onto the hope that Ginny would be home more during her breaks and for long holidays. And then, there was also her new found friendship with Blaise, who Ginny claimed still had not defined what it was that they were, but they enjoyed each other’s company in a way she hadn’t with anyone else since Harry. 

 

If years ago someone had made a list of Hogwarts classmates and paired them together, surely no one would have placed Ginny Weasley with Blaise Zabini. Excluding a love of Quidditch, on the surface, they had nothing else in common. The glow on Ginny’s face, however, as she recalled their date from the night before, made Hermione think that maybe it didn’t matter that they didn’t match on paper. What mattered was that they were happy. 

 

With Ginny gone for training, Draco was upgraded to the spare bedroom, despite his fully furnished flat on the other side of town. He preferred to cover the night-time changings and feedings, and Hermione had begun to suspect it was so she could get more than an hour of sleep at a time. She wasn’t entirely sure how he was still functioning because after that first week, he’d returned to work, but always left fresh scones and coffee on the table for her every morning. 

 

They fell into a steady rhythm together, their own routine. His days were spent at the Ministry, coordinating with MACUSA from his office, finalizing the last few pieces needed to take Toth down. Her days were spent caring for Rose, as much as Kreacher would allow her to. In the evenings, they’d have dinner together, and often, Draco insisted on putting Rose in her crib, allowing Hermione a few moments of peace. Sometimes, they’d lounge in the sitting room, both quietly reading, or sometimes they’d settle together on the couch, watching one of Hermione’s muggle movies on the telly. 

 

On a Tuesday, two weeks after Ginny had left for training, Hermione stepped out of the shower, checked into the nursery where Rose was still quietly sleeping, and padded down the hallway into the kitchen before her body froze. He was leaning so casually against her kitchen counter, a mug of coffee in his hand, wearing a pair of dark grey trousers and a crisp white button up, his tie lazily wrapped around his neck. He looked so casual, so comfortable, so at home. Something lurched in her, flushing across her face and she pulled tighter the string on her robe. Because of course, she was only wearing her robe. Usually, he had already left for work, she hadn’t been expecting him to still be standing in her kitchen, looking so… 

 

“Morning, Granger.” His voice rasped and she forgot all common courtesies. “Coffee?” His hand reached out towards her, holding out a mug of fresh black brew, and when his hand brushed against hers, she felt her mind come out of its fog. 

 

“Thanks, I’m sorry,” her eyes darted down over her robe, self-consciously tugging it tighter against her again, “I thought you’d have already left for work.”

 

“Late meeting tonight, so Potter gave us clearance to come in a few hours late. Must say, I’ll have to thank him…” His voice trailed off as she noticed his eyes trail over her, still standing there in her kitchen wearing only her robe and she felt a blush creep over her cheeks. His body pushed off the counter and he shrugged on the jacket that was draped over a kitchen chair.

 

“Have a good day, Granger. I’ll see you tonight.” She was still frozen when he paused next to her, his thumb grazing along her jawline before he leaned down, placing a kiss to her forehead that seemed to linger longer than those before it. 

 

Still feeling in a daze, she turned to watch him step through the floo with a smirk on his face before he winked.  _ He winked at her. _

 

Rose was still sleeping peacefully in her crib, and so Hermione sank down into the rocking chair in the corner of the nursery, not bothering to change out of her robe or even turn on a light. 

 

_ How had they gotten here? Where was here even?  _  They’d fallen into a routine together, dancing around one another, two roommates living together and caring for a newborn, but this morning, their encounter in the kitchen, felt almost…  domestic. 

 

She heard Rose stir softly in her crib, and Hermione was instantly on her feet and reaching for her daughter. Her daughter, with her bright red wisps of hair,  her nose that mirrored that of her father and who’d seemed to have inherited her father’s love of food. Rose whimpered softly in Hermione’s arms while she readjusted her robe, before happily settling in. 

 

She was still sitting in the rocking chair a few hours later, holding Rose tightly in her arms while she slept, when she heard the soft woosh of the floo. 

 

“Mione!” She heard Astoria Greengrass’ voice call out to her as the girl made her way down the hallway. 

 

“Tori, I’m in here. She’s sleeping right now.”

 

“I came for lunch and little Rose snuggles. Sorry I didn’t owl, I needed to get away last minute.”

 

As Astoria reached for Rose, scooping the little bundle up close to her chest, Hermione realized Astoria was looking what could only be described as less-than-put-together. Her long sleek blonde hair was pushed angrily back into a bun at the nape of her neck, her soft yellow blouse was ruffled, and there were streaks of black down her face, presumably from mascara. 

 

“Tori, is everything ok?” 

 

“My father, he’s being difficult again… “

 

“But isn’t he…”

 

“In Azkaban serving a life-sentence? Yes. But he still finds these ways to control my life, more specifically, my love life.” 

 

They had moved into the kitchen, settling around the small table as Kreacher prepared tea for their guest. 

 

“It’s about Theo, isn’t it?”

 

“Are we that obvious?”

 

“You move around each other in this very, almost beautiful way. Like you’re both constantly aware of the other person when you’re near each other, even if you’re on opposite sides of the room.”

 

“He’s the love of my life, Hermione, but my father doesn’t approve. Theo works as an Unspeakable at the Ministry, and my father is of the belief that all Unspeakable’s are dark wizards. And I know it sounds almost silly, still clinging to the desire of approval, but the society Theo and I were raised in, we were never prepared for this. Our parents instilled in us their same Pureblood beliefs, that my father’s word is gold when it comes to the affairs of his house and the matches of his daughters. I’ve gone against him in every way that I possibly can, except for this. It’s Theo, too. He’s against going forward with our relationship without my father’s approval, otherwise, we would have eloped to Paris after I left Hogwarts. These men- Theo and Blaise and Draco, their father’s might have instilled in them some less-than-ideal beliefs, but they were raised to be respectful, raised to develop a friendship before pursuing a romantic relationship.”

 

_ Friendship.  _ That word rang in her head over and over again.  _ Friend.  _  She listened to Astoria and politely offered advice until her friend left in the early parts of the afternoon, but all she could think about was that word.  _ Friends.  _

 

That’s what Draco had called her when they were in their 8th year together, a friend. That’s what he’d called her when she snuck into his room when the nightmares got to be too bad, when letters from Ron stopped coming and she had no one else to turn to. When he kissed her, just that one time by the lake on their last night at school, he’d call her his friend.

 

She’d rebuilt her life around that word, convinced herself that to him, she was only a friend, that he’d never see her, had never seen her, as anything more. 

 

A soft cry from the nursery down the hall pulled her back out of her thoughts, back to the red-haired little baby that had been peacefully sleeping in her crib. Her head was swimming with thoughts and confusion, reeling from her awkward encounter with Draco this morning, followed by her insightful conversation with Astoria, and once Rose was settled again, she found her way to the couch in the living room, drifting off with her thoughts and a book. 

 

* * *

  
  


There was a part of her over the next few days, that felt like she was betraying Ron, for how easily and swiftly Draco had become a part of her life. She knew how he liked his coffee in the morning, how his hair looked ruffled from sleep before he showered, what his voice sounded like as he sang to Rose each night. She knew what his hand felt like on her back as they stepped through the floo to Potter’s, the jolt of electricity she felt when his hand brushed hers while they sat on the couch, the scent of his robes after an afternoon of Quidditch with Harry. 

 

His work hours were long, and most nights when he finally comes back to the flat, he’s swaying with exhaustion, but he still cradles and rocks Rose before settling on the couch with Hermione, continuing their little routine, and the remainder of the week passed without any conversation 

 

Saturday came with the long-standing tradition of dinner at Grimmauld Place, and again, that thing in her stomach lurched as his hand lightly guided her back through the floo as his other arm held tight to the grasp he had on Rose. 

 

Dinner had passed without much variation, and when Pansy excused herself to bring out dessert, Hermione gathered Rose and snuck down the hall to change her nappy. Coming back, readjusting the blanket around her daughter, she headed towards the kitchen, towards the voices of her friends.

 

“No, Draco, she needs to know.”  _ Pansy. _ Hermione stopped herself just outside the kitchen, leaning her shoulder against the door. Someone else spoke, but all that she could hear was jumbled words and her name. At least she knew she was the  _ she _ her friends were speaking about. 

 

“You think I haven’t thought about that, Potter! Merlin- it’s all I think about most days…”

 

There was a moment when she thought about busting open the door and interrupting this conversation that was now so clearly about her, but like that moment the other morning in the kitchen, her body was frozen. 

 

“Draco, I know it’s not easy, but she deserves to know you don’t see her as just a friend.” 

 

There was that word again.  _ Friend. _ She felt everything come crashing down around her as she realized in that moment the truth of what that word meant, and she felt a panic build inside of her chest. Like that flutter that sometimes appeared in her stomach when he smiled at her. But not really because it felt like something was twisting and breaking inside of her. 

 

Poised and calm, she pushed the door open, taking in the look of panic on her three friends faces. 

 

“Rose is being a bit fussy, so I’m sorry, Pansy, but I’m going to take her home. Thank you for a lovely dinner.”

 

She turned swiftly, knowing he would follow her, knowing he would offer to put Rose to bed so she could stay, but she spun and met him in front of the fireplace, placing a hand sharply to his chest, trying to will the tears to not spill from her eyes. 

 

“Draco- I think you need to stay a few days at your flat.”

 

Without waiting for a response, she threw the floo powder into the fireplace, taking notice of his face before she disappeared- confused and defeated. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, now breathe. Our girl is feeling a lot of feelings and she's confused and conflicted and exhausted. Please sit tight.
> 
> follow me on tumblr @miss-eee


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, in the midst of the rubble of the last few months, she’d found a calm and happiness.

When the sun started to creep in through the curtains in Rose’s window, Hermione was still sitting in the nursery rocker, still awake, having never fallen asleep the night before. Rose, after several hours of relentless screaming, had finally fallen asleep just under an hour ago and Hermione was trying to revel in the quiet. The quiet, that did nothing to calm the noise in her heart and her head, thoughts screaming around and around about Draco’s revelation the night before. 

 

She heard a soft knock on the door, eyes darting up as Kreacher sheepishly peeked into the room, hovering with him a tray of toast and coffee. She knew there was an apology in order - sometime around four in the morning, she’d shrieked at the elf when he’d offered to help settle Rose, telling the old elf that she could manage her daughter “ _ very well on my own, thank you very much.” _

 

“Master Harry has sent Kreacher to look after Ms Weasley and Miss Rose. Master said to cook and clean and do anything Ms Weasley ask. Not helping with Miss Rose makes Kreacher sad, the little mistress cried all night.”

 

“I apologize, Kreacher. I’m sorry I yelled at you last night. I am so grateful for all of your help with Rose and the flat and all you did for me when I was pregnant.”

 

“Mister Malfoy did not return with Ms Weasley last night.”

 

“No, Draco will be staying at his flat for a while.” Those words, saying them out loud again, made everything seem more real and she felt her heart sink. 

 

“Kreacher sees how happy Mister Malfoy makes Ms Weasley and how he cares for Miss Rose.” There wasn’t a chance for her to respond, the older house-elf retreated out of the nursery and down the hall, leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts again. 

 

* * *

  
  


Sunday and Monday had passed much the same as Saturday, Rose was near inconsolable and Hermione was exhausted. There was no time when Rose took a nap that Hermione could slip into the shower or close her eyes for a moment. Even Kreacher had been unable to console the small redhead, no amount of passing or re-swaddling her had managed to calm her down, and even the elf was tugging on his ears when the night came. 

 

There was still no relief on Tuesday morning, and it was only when she heard the soft rumble of the floo that Hermione realized she had managed to fall asleep in the rocker, holding Rose, still red in the face from crying. 

 

“Mione? It’s me.” Harry’s voice called down the hall, causing Rose’s crying fit to restart, acting as a beckon for her friend.

 

She stood up when he pulled the door open, catching a glimpse of herself for the first time in two days in the mirror. Her hair was twisted and ratted and knotted into a bun that hung loosely from the top of her head and there were dark, puffy bags underneath her eyes, but it was probably the fact that she was still wearing the clothes that she’d worn to dinner on Saturday that gave her complete exhaustion away. 

 

“Hermione, you look awful.” It was one of those moments that as soon as he’d spoken the words, Hermione could tell Harry instantly regretted them, because his face first fell into this look of sheer terror before his eyes darted around the room searching for her wand. 

 

“Gee, thanks, Harry. Not exactly the nicest thing you can say to a new mother.”

 

“I know, Mione. I’m sorry. Kreacher came to me, said Rose wasn’t sleeping and won’t stop crying and he didn’t know what else to do.”

 

“Just remember to be nice to Pansy, your time is coming soon.”

 

“I know, she wanted to come herself today, but… have you heard from Draco since Saturday?” 

 

“No, I was going to owl him and invite him for dinner tonight, but with Rose not sleeping I haven’t had a moment to breathe, let alone take a shower or send him an owl.”

 

“Hermione, I know you’re feeling conflicted, but there’s clearly something more going on between the two of you. You can’t just push him away every time you feel guilty.” 

 

Her arms felt empty as Harry had carefully scooped Rose from her and she watched as he paced the nursery, trying still to calm her cries. 

 

“It’s just that, he’s always felt this way? Or at least since our 8th year? Am I betraying Ron for wondering how different things would be if he’d have told me?”

 

“I’m not sure I’m the person you should be having this conversation with, but I do know that Ron would want you to be happy. Hogwarts Ron would probably not have wanted you to move on with Malfoy, but the Ron who was Draco’s friend would.”   
  


She hesitated, resting her head in her hands. Undoubtedly, her feelings for Malfoy had been shifting in the previous weeks, reminding her all too well of how they had shifted in 8th year, when it had been just the two of them. There were times she’d thought she was foolish for ever thinking Draco Malfoy would see her as anything more than his friend, but again his words from the other night kept replaying in her mind. 

 

“Can you... Can you stay with Rose?” 

 

“We’ve only got a few weeks left, I need all the practice I can get.” 

 

“You’ll be fine Harry. You’re going to fall on your face, but you’ll be fine.”

 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Now, go win over the ferret.”

  
  


There was a hushed quiet that overcame her as she stepped through Draco’s floo. It had been a few months since she’d been here, since he’d been here even, and her eyes quickly scanned around the room, taking in the greys and blacks that adorned the space. Draco preferred a minimalist approach to his interior decorating, and if it wasn’t for the television set she’d helped him set up a year ago, the flat looked exactly the way you’d imagine a pureblood bachelor’s flat to look like - plush and inviting, with an air of sophistication and just a hint of standoffishness, so that one did not feel too comfortable so as to overstay their welcome. 

 

“Harry- I told you. I’m not going over there again until she’s ready to talk. She’s warded the flat against me…” 

 

His voice trailed from the kitchen, so she moved to follow it. His back was turned as he presumably rummaged through the icebox, and she was momentarily thankful, because she could feel the blush creep up her cheeks as she took in his form, standing there wearing only pyjama bottoms.

 

“Not against just you. I blocked the wards from everyone, except for Kreacher who managed to sneak Harry in this morning.”

 

He spun around at the sound of her voice, his eyes startling up to glance over her, spoon dangling from his mouth as he held a pint of ice cream in his hand.

 

“Bloody hell, Granger. You look terrible.”

 

“Why does anyone think that’s an appropriate thing to say to a new mother?”

 

He’d set the ice cream down on the counter, stepping closer until he paused in front of her, leaning against the doorframe. 

 

“She didn’t sleep last night, did she?”

 

“No.” Her voice was almost a whisper, her mind still lost in thoughts of what she’d come here to say.

 

“Has she slept since Potter’s?” He’s moved again, inching his way closer and closer to her, but there’s really nowhere else for him to go. 

 

“No.” Her eyes stare up into his grey, so close and so stormy, and she thinks her heart has stopped beating. Instinctively, her teeth pull her bottom lip under them, digging into the chapped flesh. 

 

“I haven’t slept either.” His voice is husky and low, and she thinks - this is it. This is the moment that he’s going to kiss me, that completely alters the course of our friendship. After this, there’s no going back, there’s no forgetting this ever happened, because it’s going to. Suddenly, she realizes she hasn’t showered in 2 days, her hair is in knots and her lips are so chapped they’re peeling and that  _ this _ is her great romantic moment with Draco Malfoy. 

 

“Draco…” Her voices cracks and trails off, there’s more she wants to say, more she needs to say, conversations that need to be had, but he’s still staring down at her with those stormy grey eyes and she’s sure now her heart hasn’t stopped, because it’s racing in her chest.

 

“I'm in love with you.” It comes out as a whisper, so soft that if she hadn’t been staring directly at his face and watching as his lips moved, she may have thought he hadn’t said anything at all. But he did, he’d said  _ those words _ to her. Standing there in the kitchen doorway wearing only pyjama bottoms, he’d said  _ those words _ to her.  

 

“I don't want to just be friends. I panicked, and I'm so sorry. It's just it's you and it's me and with Ron and now there's Rose and…”

 

“Granger, you're rambling…” His hands came up to grip her face, and there wasn’t a chance for her to respond, because his lips were moving over hers, soft and gentle in a way that sent a chill down her spine. She was right, there was no coming back from this. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Several hours later, after a lengthy conversation that should have happened years ago, the two stepped back through the floo and into Hermione’s flat. The constant screechy cry that had echoed through the air the last few days was gone, replaced only with silence. She could tell Kreacher had been through to tidy up, the place was once more looking spotless, which lead her to believe it’d been some time since Rose had finally settled. 

 

Hand in hand, they stepped through to the nursery, where Harry sat in the rocking chair, holding Rose who was fast asleep. 

 

“Harry- see. You’ll be a great dad. You finally got her to sleep…”

 

“Potter, why are you wearing my shirt?”

 

“Shhh, you two. If you wake her up again, she’s your problem, not mine. She was crying so hard after you left, she made herself sick, and Kreacher had to wash my shirt because  _ scourgify _ wasn’t working, and I found  _ this _ in Draco’s room. And as soon as I put it on, it was like magic. She instantly stopped crying and fell asleep.”

 

“Little one, did you miss me like I missed you?” His voice cooed at her, as he took her gently from Harry, careful not to wake her, kneeing Harry gently to signal for him to vacate the rocker. Taking his cue to leave, Harry stepped quietly from the room, stopping only to kiss Hermione on the forehead as he passed. 

 

Finally having quiet and finally having Rose settled, Hermione snuck away to run a bath, sinking into the lavender bubbles and breathing in the calming smell. She pulled her robe from the hook behind the door, pulling it tight against her as she padded down the hall to her bedroom, stopping only to peek her head into the nursery. Rose was still softly cradled in Draco’s arms, his head lulled back against the cushions, soft snores coming from his mouth. 

 

There was a peace that came over her, watching the two of them sleep. Somehow, in the midst of the rubble of the last few months, she’d found a calm and happiness. There were still questions that needed to be answered and conversations left to be had, but those were for another day. Today was a new beginning, a new start. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, kudos to you if you're still here to read this. BUT- if you're paying attention, you'll see I updated the chapter numbers, and my amazing and fabulous beta @shrugheadjonesthethird beta'd both this and the epilogue, so that'll be following shortly. 
> 
> follow me on tumblr @miss-eee, where I post a random assortment of Harry Potter, Riverdale and ACOTAR and grumble about my dogs and grad school


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d never meant to take Ron’s place, but between him, Harry and Hermione, they’d made sure Rose knew who her father was, made sure she was well-skilled in both wizard chess and Quidditch, and weekly dinners at the Burrow had ensured that Rose had also inherited Ron’s love of Molly Weasley’s cooking. She had Hermione’s love of books and knowledge, and Pansy’s fashion sense, much to his vault’s dismay.

His body stretched, his arm instinctively reaching for her side of the bed, but found it already cold. His eyes opened slowly, and through the soft white curtains, he could just make out the sun starting to greet the day. 

 

_ The day. _

 

Today was that day. That day that he’d been simultaneously dreading and excited for over the last decade. It had come down to today. All of his worries and fears and joys, today was the day. 

 

He stretched again, pulling a t-shirt out of the dresser drawer before he softly padded down the hallway, into the kitchen. Hermione leaned against the counter, her eyes staring out in the massive backyard, darting over the Quidditch pitch he and Rose had finally worn her down about. He leaned over her, his lips meeting hers in their same morning routine that they’d done every morning for the last ten years. She gestured towards the coffee mug that sat on the counter, steam piping up from the black liquid gold. 

 

“I couldn’t sleep well last night, I’m so anxious about today.” Her body sank into his side as he wrapped a hand around her waist, careful not to spill his coffee. 

 

“I wish you would have woken me, I’d have sat up with you.”

 

“I know, it’s just…”

 

“I know. Today’s just the first time, but I don’t imagine it’ll get any easier.” He kissed her forehead once more, stroking a hand across her growing belly as he reached over to the stove, fresh blueberry scones that apparently his wife had baked sometime in the middle of the night. He grabbed two, taking a bite out of one while wrapping the other in a cloth and retreating up the stairs to a bedroom on the right. 

 

She sat there, on the edge of her pink and white floral bed, her long red curls falling over her shoulders, accented by the soft cream jumper she wore with a dark brown skirt and a pair of cream knee highs. Her trunk was packed at her feet as he knew it had been for the last week, since their trip to Diagon Alley. She’d been so excited to pick her books from Flourish and Blotts, new robes from Madam Malkins, an assortment of new outfits from Petal & Otter.  _ Malfoy,  _ she’d told him,  _ I can’t go to Hogwarts wearing my old jumpers.  _ When they’d walked past Eyelop’s, she spotted a tiny Northern Saw-whet that had been newly imported from America. He doubted the thing would be very good for long distance letters, but she’d pleaded, and he’d always had a hard time saying no to her. He sat down on the bed beside her, handing her the second blueberry scone as a peace-offering. 

 

“You know, when your mother was pregnant with you, I brought her a scone every morning. The blueberry was always her favourite.”

 

“Malfoy,” she mumbled after she finished her first bite, “you’ve told me this story already. You, the gallant hero who held mum’s hair and hired a house-elf for her, sweeping her off her feet.”

 

“Kid, you know it wasn’t as easy at that.” 

 

“I know. You’ve told me that part already, too.” Her voice trailed off as she swung her feet nervously. “Dad?” It didn’t matter that  _ da _ had been her first word or that she sometimes called him  _ Malfoy _ , as her mother did too, he still melted when she called him  _ dad. _ He’d never meant to take Ron’s place, but between him, Harry and Hermione, they’d made sure Rose knew who her father was, made sure she was well-skilled in both wizard chess and Quidditch, and weekly dinners at the Burrow had ensured that Rose had also inherited Ron’s love of Molly Weasley’s cooking. She had Hermione’s love of books and knowledge, and Pansy’s fashion sense, much to his vault’s dismay. “I’m nervous - what if I don’t make any friends? What if I get sorted into Slytherin?”

 

“Ok, first thing, there’s nothing wrong with being sorted into Slytherin. There hasn’t ever been a Malfoy not in Slytherin, so you’ll have Scorp to look after in a few years. And secondly, you already have friends. James will be there with you, and Artie and Isabella next year.”

 

“Cousins, yes. But friends, dad. People I haven’t grown up with my entire life.” She kicked her feet again dramatically before flopping backwards on her bed, reminding him again how quickly those teenage years were approaching. 

 

“Rose Weasley, you are smart and beautiful, a damn good Quidditch player and a Malfoy to boot. I can guarantee you will have no problem making friends who are not your cousins. Now let’s go find Scorp, he’s being too quiet and maybe we can get in a few laps on the pitch before your mother makes us leave.”

 

She sat up, leaning into his arm as he wrapped it around her before placing a kiss to the top of his head. Parenting a daughter was hard, and he was holding out hope that the little one still growing in Hermione’s belly was another boy. 

 

* * *

  
  


He stood back watching her, as she rushed forward to push her trolley through the barrier. Hermione had gone ahead first, and he reached his hand to guide nine-year-old Scorpius through the barrier. Scorpius still didn’t entirely understand why Rosie had to go away to school and he was being left behind, no matter how many times he’d reassured him he’d have his turn in a few short years. His son was the spitting image of him at his age, except for his wavy platinum curls. Curls that no matter how much  _ sleekeazy _ he ran through them, they still refused to straighten. He’d finally conceded defeat, accepting that there was still the possibility this next child would have his straight locks. 

 

As he stepped through the barrier, he was reminded briefly of the last time they’d been here. Of how excited he and Hermione had been, bounding down the platform with their trolley’s, their years of Hogwarts and the war finally behind them. He froze when he realized he was in the same spot that Ron had been that day, when she’d stopped racing and been faced with roses and a small gold ring. How different things turned out, and how differently things may have turned out then, if he’d only told her of his feelings, instead of referring to her only as a friend.

 

His grey eyes darted about, finding his wife easily in the crowd that had formed around her. What had once been this band of misfits that met on Friday’s at a pub in Muggle London, had grown into quite the close-knit family unit. A very visibly pregnant Pansy stood next to Rose, adjusting her jumper and her hair, while Potter seemed to be having a heart-to-heart with his oldest son, James, while the younger one stood closely to Pansy’s side. Isabella Zabini suddenly came bounding past him, excitement overflowing as she rattled on to Pansy and Rose about the new Quidditch gloves her parents had bought her. Her dark red hair was twisted up into a knot on top of her head, contrasting with her dark skin and freckles.  He watched as Blaise and Ginny passed greetings around the group, despite them living in Italy for most of the year, they still kept close with the others. His eyes caught a movement and darted back towards his daughter, catching the way Bella elbowed Rose gently, before tossing her head over her shoulder, past him. A hand came down on his shoulder, and he instantly felt a wave of panic wash over him.  _ No. No. But at least it wasn’t James with his cocky attitude and who had seemingly inherited more of Ron Weasley’s personality than his own daughter. No- at least it wasn’t James.  _

 

He turned to greet his friend, taking note of the boy standing next to his father. Artemis Nott had grown to be the perfect mix of both of his parents, graceful and calm but a hint of unrule. He preferred to keep his hair longer on the top than the sides, his light brown curls constantly needing to be pushed back from falling into his eyes. His bright blue eyes sparkled with the same hint of mischief as his father’s did, and Draco felt that wave of panic again at the thought of those blue eyes landing on his daughter. 

 

At his side, Scorpius tugged at his hand before pushing through the crowd of friends and greeting Albus like they hadn’t just spent the weekend prior together. He could worry all he wanted about Rose and the way her eyes kept darting over in Artie’s direction, but he was more worried about unleashing Scorp and Albus on the halls of Hogwarts. The two were known to wreak havoc much in the same way as James, but only on a quieter scale. Just a month ago, they’d found a food colouring potion that Molly Weasley used to stain the frosting on cupcakes, and slipped it into the pumpkin juice during Sunday dinner, and then laughed uncontrollably at everyone’s blue lips and teeth. 

 

The train whistle blew, signalling to the small group that it was time to say their goodbyes. He stood towards the back, still next to Theo and Artie, watching as Astoria, Pansy, Ginny and Hermione fawned over the first-years, imparting last words of wisdom. He watched her red curls bounce as she bounded up the train steps, before she turned swiftly and she paused, urging James on ahead of her. She stepped down, pushing through the crowd until she stood right in front of him. 

 

“I thought you were going to leave without saying goodbye.”

 

“I’ll send Minnie tonight after the sorting, so you can gloat to mum when I’m sorted into Slytherin…”

 

“Any house is lucky to have you, Rose.” He pulled her into his arms, fighting to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill from his eyes. He leaned down, kissing the top of her bright red curls as he whispered, “Be good, little one.”

 

Hermione stepped to his side, wrapping her fingers around his, and they watched together as Rose once again bounded up the steps of the train. Moments later, as the whistle blew one more time, her and James hung their heads out of a window, waving to the small group of friends as the train began to move. Scorpius and Albus darted away first, racing back down the platform, as the group slowly moved in that direction. 

 

A lot had changed over the last ten years, weddings and babies and many, many dinners, and more than once, he found himself wondering how it was that they had ended up here. Out of those dark days that had followed after Ron’s death, had come friendship and love and happiness. He pulled Hermione into his side once more before they stepped through the barrier, kissing her forehead in the same way he’d done thousands of times over the years. 

 

“Ready to go home, Granger?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad you guys stuck this out, thank you for all of the love and support during this adventure! 
> 
> And to @shrugheadjonesthethird for being an amazing beta and friend.
> 
> follow me on tumblr @miss-eee where I post an unhealthy amount of Harry Potter, Riverdale and ACOTAR and rant about my dogs

**Author's Note:**

> I pulled this down a few months ago because I lost my motivation and life got in the way, but it's almost completed now, so I'm reposting it here.


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